


Set The Dark On Fire

by theinvisibledisaster



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: (somewhat), Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bellamy Has Feelings, Clarke Griffin & John Murphy Friendship, Clarke Griffin Has PTSD - Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Depression, Diyoza and Murphy being the BroTP you didn't know you wanted, F/M, Minor Memori, POV Multiple, Post Season 6 Speculation, Slow Burn Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin, Suicide Attempt, but not really because I know they won't address any of this in the show, minor zaven
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-13
Updated: 2018-09-03
Packaged: 2019-06-26 16:20:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 48,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15666828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theinvisibledisaster/pseuds/theinvisibledisaster
Summary: Clarke isn't coping well with peacetime on the Eligius ship, and while Bellamy has woken some of the others (mainly spacekru) and tries to organise a trip to the ground, making decisions and considering all the variables, Clarke makes a choice of her own:She'll take herself out of the equation.OR: the post season 5 idea I had to write because all of the unresolved emotional turmoil this season is actually killing me and someone needs to notice that Clarke is in pain, for the love of god.Winner of the 2018 Bellarke Fanwork Award for Best Angst Fiction(and yes, I'm still absolutely screaming over it!)





	1. The Pain I Might Leave Behind (Wait in the Fire)

**Author's Note:**

> I apologise in advance for the pain...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi!  
> I'm sorry in advance for the pain I'm about to bestow on you; welcome to the inside of my brain, it's actual torture. 
> 
> So each POV is separated by song lyrics relevant to that particular character's mental state, and each time jump is indicated with a line, I hope that makes sense. 
> 
> The title comes from the Turin Brakes song "Dark on Fire" and it's all about losing hope and getting it back again, so if that doesn't tell you what I'm going for with this fic, I don't know what does. 
> 
> I hope you... enjoy is definitely not the right word, but I hope you get all the way to the end of this fic in one piece. I sure didn't.

_I'm in here_  
_Can anybody see me?_  
_Can anybody help?_  
_I'm in here, a prisoner of history_  
_Can anybody help?_  
  
_Can't you hear my call?_  
_you coming to get me now?_  
_I've been waiting for_  
_You to come rescue me_  
_I need you to hold_  
_All of the sadness I can not_  
_Living inside of me_  
**I’m in Here – Sia**

Clarke’s voice echoed out over the bridge, her face filling up the screen. Her friends and family stood there, frozen to the spot as they watched the video she’d sent, not meant for an audience of more than one.

_"Hey Bellamy. If you’re watching this, then it means I’m about to… It means I went through with it. I want you to know… I need you to know that this isn’t your fault. Whatever happens, Bellamy, none of this is your fault. I just… I can’t… I can’t do this anymore."_

_"I suppose this was almost inevitable – it makes sense that the Commander of Death finally goes out by her own hand. You don’t need me anymore anyway. Live a good life, Bellamy. Live a better life."_

_"I need you to take care of Madi for me, like you promised. Tell her… tell her that I’m so proud, and I don’t regret a single second since I met her, not one, because she is… she’s so special. Tell her I love her, and I will always love her. And tell Raven that I’m sorry."_

_"Murphy was right, but I’m sure he knows that by now."_

_"This… this is a tape, filled with every call I made on the radio for the last six years – to you. I should have told you sooner, but I… it doesn’t matter now. I saved all of them, because it was like a diary of Madi growing up, and maybe because I wanted to remember what it felt like to have hope, but… I’m giving them to you. Maybe they’ll give you hope now."_

_"It’s just… it’s too much, Bellamy. And I tried… I tried so hard, but everything is just so messed up and I’m not… I can’t do this. I’m so sorry. I never wanted to hurt you. All I ever wanted was for you to be happy, and since I came back into your life, all we’ve done is hurt each other. I’m not good for you, Bellamy. I’m no good for anyone. And that’s okay. It’s okay. But being here… it’s too hard, and I’m so tired. I can’t keep doing this. Not anymore. I waited for you for six years, Bellamy, and I… I can’t… I’m still waiting, and I can’t wait for you anymore. It’s not fair to you, and it’s… it’s killing me. I love you so much, Bellamy, and I tried to fight, for you… but my fight is over."_

The screen went black and then the bridge erupted in chaos.

* * *

* * *

  
  
** **

**THREE DAYS EARLIER:**

_There's the moon asking to stay_  
_Long enough for the clouds to fly me away_  
_Oh, it's my time coming, I'm not afraid, afraid to die_  
_My fading voice sings of love_  
_But she cries to the clicking of time, oh_  
_Wait in the fire_

_And the rain is falling and I believe_  
_My time has come_  
_It reminds me of the pain I might leave_  
_Leave behind_  
_Wait in the fire_

_And I feel that I'm drownin' my name_  
_So easy to know_  
_And forget with this kiss_  
_I'm not afraid to go but it goes so slow_  
**Grace – Jeff Buckley**

_ Clarke: _

Clarke pressed end on the recording. She wiped the tears off her cheeks and sat back away from the screen. She was exhausted. Recording that message had taken more energy than she had left to give, and she was so tired. She felt it in every molecule of her being, every cell; a fatigue that came from inside herself, spreading outwards from behind her eyes. She sat motionless, curled up with her arm pressing painfully against the edge of the desk, but unwilling to move, for what felt like hours.

It had been a week since she woke up, six days since she and Bellamy had woken the others, and everything felt off. Like she was walking through a dream where the people she knew flitted in and out of her consciousness, barely interacting with her, barely acknowledging that she was real. She felt detached, like she was floating in space while everyone else had their feet firmly on the ground. 

Ten people awake on the ship and she felt more alone than in the first months of Praimfaya when she was the last person on Earth.

Something made a loud clanging noise and it took her a moment to realise it was someone’s fist on her door. She closed her eyes, praying that he would give up and leave her alone, like he had the day before, but he pounded the metal again.

“Clarke, open up,” Murphy snapped, “I know you’re in there, you can’t hide in there forever!”

“Just leave me alone, Murphy,” she called through the wall. 

“Oh, she speaks,” he noted sarcastically, and then, softer, “Clarke, c’mon. Talk to me. I know what you’re going through, just… just _talk_ to me.”

She sighed, and with a great deal of effort, hauled herself to her feet. She opened the door and turned around, not even bothering to look at him as she went back to the chair by her desk. She knew he was sitting on the edge of her bed, looking at her, but she couldn’t bring herself to look around. 

After a long breath of silence, Murphy spoke, but his tone was so much gentler than she expected, when he said, “Clarke, please talk to me.”

“What is there to talk about Murphy? You found me looking at plans to the airlock yesterday, I don’t think that’s especially unusual.” She said sharply.

“No, if we were planning anything to do with the airlocks, but we’re not, and you were hiding the fact that you were looking at the airlocks, and c’mon, Clarke, you _know_ that I know what you were doing. So why don’t you just talk to me?”

“There’s nothing to say, Murphy.”

“No?”

“No.”

“So you’re not planning to float yourself?” He asked bluntly. She blinked. Had she really been that transparent? She thanked her lucky stars he hadn’t overheard the video she’d just made, because then he would really never let her brush him off.

She felt her heart constrict a little, and put her face in her hands, tears falling anew even as she tried to blink them back, “Please leave it alone, Murphy.”

“That’s not an answer.” He said dubiously.

“You know the answer.” She muttered through her fingers, “Now, I’m tired, and you’re sitting on my bed. So if you came here to talk me out of it–”

“No, I came here to listen,” Murphy said, “Because I know what it’s like, to feel like it’s your only option, I’ve been there… but _you_ , Clarke… you _have_ to know that it’s not?”

She was silent for a moment, breathing deeply through her nose to calm herself down, before she dropped her hands from her cheeks and looked over at him. He stared back at her, compassion all over his face, and it broke her heart just a little bit more. He reached across and squeezed her hand, and she managed a tight smile in his direction, but her mind was somewhere else and he knew it. 

“Clarke, I know that this is… a lot. But I’m here for you, if you need me. Even if you feel like you can’t talk to anyone else, you can always come to me. I promise,” he said sincerely, and she nodded, but didn’t say anything. He sighed, but didn’t press the issue, and then a glint appeared in his eye and he smirked, “Us cockroaches gotta stick together, Griffin. Princess Cockroach - it suits you.”

She laughed, and he grinned in return. 

They sat in silence for a while, his hand still gripping hers, and she tried not to break down crying again. When he released her and walked to the door, she called out and he stopped, his hand catching it before it closed.

“Yeah?”

“Thank you, Murphy,” she said earnestly, “You’re-”

“Don’t you dare compliment me, Clarke, cause then I’ll know for sure that something’s wrong,” he raised an eyebrow challengingly, and she rolled her eyes.

“Just… thank you.” She said instead.

He nodded, once, curtly, and let the door swung shut behind him. She sank down onto her bed and stared at the ceiling. Not for the first time, she wondered if she was making the right choice. That was why she recorded the message ahead of time: in case she had a change of heart, but she really didn’t think she would. Her mind was made up.

 

  
  
  


_So throw our fate into the flames_  
_Memories just weigh you down_  
_You're a liar, yes you are_  
_Cos in the day you’re just a match, but in the dark a star_  
**For the Fire – Turin Brakes**  
  
  
_Bellamy:_

He bumped into Murphy down by the airlocks.

“Trying to find out a way to throw Jordan overboard already?” He joked, nudging him.

Murphy snorted, “Absolutely not: I’m his favourite. No matter how annoyingly chipper he is, I would protect him with my life.”

Bellamy chuckled, before he took in the pensive look on Murphy’s face. He was standing with his arms crossed, frowning at the airlock control panel like it had offended him. He didn’t see that look very often, not for a few years at least – it was… defeated. 

“Seriously, Murphy, you okay?” He asked. 

He took a moment to reply, still deep in thought. When he did, it wasn’t what Bellamy was expecting, “How would I go about locking the airlocks so that no-one could access them without, say, a code or something?”

“Uh,” he frowned, “You’d have to ask Raven, or Shaw, why?”

Murphy seemed to snap back into the present, and he glanced at Bellamy like he only just realised who he was talking to, “Doesn’t matter, I was just… thinking.”

“Don’t hurt yourself,” Bellamy quipped.

“Oh _ha, ha_ ,” he elbowed him, and the quiet moment was over, the familiar, sarcastic Murphy was back, “When’s the next meeting?”

“In twenty minutes, on the bridge. I was just coming to get Clarke, actually. Do you know where she is?”

Something flickered in Murphy’s eyes, so briefly that he thought he’d imagined it. 

“Yeah, she’s in her room,” he said slowly, “Y’know what, I’ll go get her, you get back up to the bridge, I’m sure someone needs to make sure Raven and Shaw aren’t banging in there when everyone turns up for the meeting.”

“We’ve got time, I’ll come with you,” Bellamy said, and couldn’t help but notice Murphy’s reluctance as he agreed. He followed him down the corridor and into the side of the ship reserved for crew’s quarters. Murphy knocked on the door and waited a moment, but there was no reply. He pounded on it again, and this time Clarke’s voice carried out, muffled, even though she was yelling. 

“Murphy, I swear to god, if you’ve come to give me another pep talk, I will murder you with my _bare hands_ ,” she shouted. 

“Actually, Princess, we’ve come to tell you that there’s a meeting on the bridge in ten minutes.” Murphy quipped, and Bellamy couldn’t help but feel a bristle of annoyance at him using the familiar nickname. He tried to push away the thought of, _“that’s what I call her”_ because he didn’t really have the right to be irritated – he hadn’t called Clarke that in a long time. But for some reason, it still hurt.

“Why can’t you just let me sleep in pea- wait did you say ‘we’?” Her voice was getting closer, and it sounded like she was moving towards the door. 

“Well I figured I had to bring reinforcements to drag you out of bed,” Murphy teased, and the door swung open to reveal a blanket-laden Clarke. She looked drained, and there were bags under her eyes, and when her gaze flicked from Murphy up to Bellamy, she drew the covers around her shoulders a little tighter, almost unconsciously. He tried to work out why that bothered him, but he didn’t have time to think about it, because she was too busy redirecting her stare to Murphy. He shrugged, “Bellamy was delivering the message, I just thought I should tag along.”

Her irritated expression morphed to something similar to relief, and she raised an eyebrow at Murphy, who only shrugged once again. Bellamy couldn’t help but feel like he was out of the loop, and he didn’t like it.

“We’re discussing the merits of waking up more people,” Bellamy explained, “Raven thinks it’s a good idea, Diyoza disagrees, and I think we need everyone’s perspective.”

She rubbed her forehead and sighed, “Fine. I’ll meet you up there.”

Murphy caught the door just before it closed, “Hey, Clarke…”

She rolled her eyes, “I haven’t complimented you yet; you’ve got nothing to worry about,” and then she closed the door with a strained half-smile. 

Murphy only nodded absentmindedly and stepped away, striding down the hallway. Bellamy jogged to catch up, “You’re worried about her complimenting you?”

He only waved his hand lazily, “Something like that.”

Bellamy wanted to ask more, but it wasn’t his business, so instead, he walked beside his friend in silence, wondering why it irked him so much that she was so withdrawn. He thought things had been okay between them, until the day they woke their friends up. In the week since Jordan had woken them, they had made decisions together, debated ideas, woken up some of the others together. Raven, Shaw, Diyoza, Echo, Emori, Murphy and Abby were all awake, but Clarke had left Madi to sleep. When he asked why, she only said, _“She deserves to wake up to a solution, not to more decisions. She might be the commander of her people, but she’s still a child, and that’s a lot of burden for a child to bear.”_ And then she’d stared down at her hands, a distant look in her eyes, and he had wondered if she was thinking about herself, before she quickly snapped out of it and moved to wake up Murphy. But her mood had remained the same since them – an odd tightrope of removed and hostile, tired and falsely cheery. It was disconcerting. 

What was _more_ disconcerting was his own reaction to it. She felt foreign to him – alien – and it only got worse after the day they woke up. That day they were so affectionate, needing one another to hold them up as they grieved, clinging to each other for comfort and holding on as though they’d never let go. They were more physical with each other the day after that too, while they were planning with Jordan, a hand on the small of her back as he moved past her, her fingers around his forearm to steady herself when she stumbled. Like they used to. So when they woke the others up and she retreated back into herself, a small part of him kept calling out to her wordlessly, and sometimes it took all his strength not to scoop her into his arms and remind himself that she was _real_ and she was _here_. Even now he still worried that it was all a dream, that he really had lost Clarke all those years ago.

He hadn’t even processed the radio calls yet, and he didn’t know how to bring it up with her either; she didn’t know that he knew, and he wasn’t sure what to say, or what it meant. All of that had been weighing on him all week as he tossed and turned at night beside Echo, unable to relax, thinking about her heartbroken expression when she looked down at Madi, and the memory of her head against his chest while they looked out over the new planet. 

Binary suns. 

It was almost fitting. 

Two suns, spinning creations of space dust and fire, constantly circling each other, never touching, never coming together, always just out of reach. 

She had always been just out of reach, and he had always been fumbling for her in the dark, waiting for the day she would turn around and see him there, always ready to hold her up. Then she died, and she had never been further from his grasp. Until they returned, and suddenly she was lightyears away, standing right beside him but never more unattainable. Then, he found out, she had been reaching for _him_. All this time, she had been calling out to him across the stars, begging him to come home, while he orbited just out of earshot, mourning a woman that still waited for him to return to her. 

But he didn’t. When he returned, it wasn’t for her. She was dead, a memory, just stardust scattered like ashes across the sky. He returned for his sister, for his people. Then Madi came, with the revelation that tore through him like a sun expiring, becoming a supernova – he brightened with every step until the dim glow he had worn since she died, with the weight of all he’d seen, had been shed and in its place was a blinding brightness in his heart. Clarke was alive, and it was a catastrophic explosion that burned up in behind his eyes, decimating the last six years in its wake. Because even after all that time, _he still loved Clarke Griffin._

And he didn’t have any idea what to do about it. 

They reached the bridge to find Raven, Diyoza and Shaw in a heated argument. Shaw clearly agreed with Diyoza, but felt the need to side with Raven out of loyalty, and so he was standing between them helping them both argue their points and acting as a middle ground. Unfortunately, it wasn’t actually helping, because both women were getting more and more irritated with each other.

“I'm telling you, Miss Reyes, that doesn’t make sense,” Diyoza groaned.

“And I’m telling _you–”_

“Okay enough!” Bellamy growled, “Save it for when everyone else gets here.” 

The three of them glared at each other murderously, but they stayed silent until the others trickled in. This was how the whole week had gone – argue, make a decision, argue, make a decision. Bellamy couldn’t wait for the day they were actually setting a plan in motion and he stopped hearing the phrases “in the event of" or “just in case".

Clarke was the last to arrive, shuffling in beside Murphy, and Bellamy didn’t miss the way he briefly squeezed her wrist before they both directed their attention to Raven, who leaned against the control panel when she spoke.

“We all know why we're here: I think we should wake up more people.”

“And I think that’s a terrible idea,” Diyoza cut in.

“And I’m just trying to stop them from murdering each other,” Shaw added in cheerily, earning a glare from Diyoza and an elbow in the ribs from Raven. 

“So, we’re opening it to the floor,” Bellamy said, waving his hands and waiting for someone else to speak. Murphy just shrugged, and Clarke was staring intently at one of the blank monitors, so he shot Emori a pleading look. She nodded, clearly thinking it over. 

“Raven why do you want to wake more people up?”

“In the event that this planet is survivable, we need to send a group down, a scouting party, like the hundred. But this time, we want it to be voluntary, people who trust us, and who we trust. So why not wake everyone up, let them volunteer and then put everyone who doesn’t want to join back into cryo?”

“Because they wouldn’t go back,” Abby pointed out, “Even if they don’t join the scouting party, they’ll want to roam around the ship, and half of the people were only just at war with the other half. It doesn’t feel like 125 years, it feels like five minutes, and those tensions are still bubbling under the surface. It could get ugly.”

“Raven’s right, we need volunteers,” Echo offered. 

“Or we could just look at everyone and decide based on merit, and useful skillsets. Then wake them individually, and if they choose not to go, we put them right back under,” Shaw suggested, but even Raven shook her head. 

“If we do that, we may as well just wake everyone up,” Raven said, “Who’s to say that the most useful people will even want to go down to the ground? What if they all said no?”

“Then we could jump that hurdle when we got there,” he countered. 

“You’re all missing the point – we can’t send anybody down there if we don’t have a good idea of the terrain,” Diyoza snapped, and then the whole room was a cacophony of noise – all of them arguing their respective points and throwing up their hands in frustration when people didn’t agree. Except Clarke. Bellamy noticed that she was standing back from the group, arms folded over herself and deep in thought, judging by the 100-yard-stare she was directing at the wall. He sidled up to her and bumped his shoulder to hers, hoping to rouse her from her stupor, but it ended up making her jump and whip her head around to face him. 

“Sorry,” he said instinctively and she offered him a small smile, but didn’t say anything in response, dropping her gaze back to the walls of the ship. He resisted the urge to grab her and shake her out of it, and instead asked, “What do you think we should do?”

“I think we need to get everything else clear before we start waking anyone else up,” Clarke said quietly, looking almost bored at the whole argument. 

“What if we need other people to help clear things up before we reach the ground?” Echo asked confrontationally, and for a moment it seemed as if Clarke would snap back. A tiny flare of the old Clarke flickered in her eyes before it died and the cold demeanour dropped over her again. 

“Then you wake them up as and when you need them,” she said tiredly. 

“So you’re taking Diyoza’s side?” Raven looked furious, “ _Of course_ you are.”

Clarke rocked uncomfortably on her heels and gripped her folded arms a little tighter, but she didn’t argue. She glanced around at the room full of people, at Raven and Echo glaring at her, Abby and Diyoza discussing the problem, Murphy rolling his eyes at Shaw, but she didn’t lift her gaze to Bellamy. She dropped it to the floor and pinched the bridge of her nose, “Do whatever you think is right, I’m going back to bed.”

She started to move away and Bellamy couldn’t work out why he did it, but he caught her elbow and leaned in close, his nose almost touching her hair, “Hey, are you alright?”

She didn’t even look at him, she just yanked her elbow back, “Fine. Stop Raven from killing Diyoza, you’ll need her if you’re going to survive.”

He watched her walk away, and not for the first time in the last week, he felt like he was missing something important. 

 

 

  
  
  


_Bigger things are going on than we see._  
_We make excuses all the time you and me._  
_There's a limit to what you get from what you read._  
_Let's go, let's go, let's go._  
  
_We are wild animals housed._  
_No ones cutting our claws, nothing to chase but our tails,_  
_It's no wonder we howl._  
_You keep the jungle inside, you expect it to grow,_  
_Then you say you don't know,_  
_Why we're climbing the walls._  
**Animals Housed – Playwrite**  
  
_Raven:_

“I’m just saying, you didn’t have to threaten her,” Shaw murmured into her neck. The meeting had gone on for hours, and they had eventually decided to leave the cryo pods untouched for now, which irritated Raven so much that she’d stomped away to her room. That was where Zeke had found her, and made it his mission to cheer her up, which of course devolved into her pulling him onto the bed and yanking his shirt over his head. Which was where they were now, her own shirt discarded on the floor and his hands roaming down her sides. 

“ _This_ is what you want to talk about right now?” She asked, gripping his bare shoulders as he trailed lazy kisses along her collarbone.

“Would you rather I stopped?”

“Talking or kissing me?” She asked, raising an eyebrow. He lifted his head up to flash a cheeky grin at her and she rolled her eyes, “You’re ridiculous.”

“And yet,” he said, not bothering to finish the sentiment as she dragged him back down to her lips.

* * *

Hours later, when they were curled up together and he was drifting off, she finally addressed his concerns, “I know I didn’t have to threaten her. I wanted to.” 

He sighed and sat up a little, blinking the drowsiness from his eyes, “I know. But maybe you should cut Diyoza some slack. She really knows what she’s talking about, and she’s not all bad.”

“She tortured Clarke, she tortured me and Murphy, she tried to kill my friends, she had her men beat you,” Raven listed off. 

He nodded, “Sure, but she was a soldier who felt threatened, and she was trying to stay in charge of an army of felons while hiding a pregnancy. I can understand why she might have been a little wary.”

“Stop being so logical, it’s annoying,” she grumbled. 

He opened his mouth to say something, closed it again, and then frowned. She stared at him, waiting for whatever it was he was trying to formulate, and eventually he asked, “What’s going on with you and Clarke?”

She felt her ire rising, and moved to sit cross-legged, facing him as she tried to tamp down her frustration, “What about me and Clarke?”

“Well… she’s your friend,” he said, but there was a questioning note to it, and she nodded once, indicating he should continue – but he was on thin ice and he knew it – so he sat up hesitantly and took her hands in his, “You haven’t spoken to her.”

“She betrayed us.”

“To protect her daughter. And she came back.”

“She left Bellamy to die.”

“Then when she realised he was in trouble, she jumped to help. Don’t you think maybe it’s time to stop asking _‘how high’_? She’s trying.”

“Why are you picking a fight with me about this?” Raven asked, confused, and Shaw ducked his head. 

“You didn’t see her before you arrived, Raven. I did. She was… She was alone, and she was doing anything to protect her daughter, including pretending not to speak English, and the second she thought Madi was in danger, she broke. She told Diyoza everything. Told her how alone she was, about the fact that it was just her and Madi, and it had been for six long years. Then, when our men found your group on the ground, you should have… you should have seen her face. Diyoza put the shock collar on her and tortured her, claiming she’d lied about being alone on the planet, and she begged for her to stop and told her she had no idea who the people were. I believed her and I told Diyoza to leave her alone, but she didn’t. She was alone, Raven. She was alone for six years, and she didn’t know if you guys had even made it to the Ring. All she had was that little girl, and when she thought Madi was in danger, from the flame, and that Bellamy had put her there, can you really blame her for reacting the way she did?”

Raven felt her heart sink. She hadn’t known any of that. She realised with a jolt that she hadn’t even tried to hear Clarke’s side of the story, she had just heard about her betrayal and assumed the worst. Why had she done that? This was _Clarke_ – the same woman who sacrificed herself in Praimfaya so that she could save the people she loved. The only difference now was that Madi was the person she loved most. 

Shaw sighed, “Look, I’m not saying you have to forgive her, or even understand it, but maybe just… talk to her?”

Raven lay back and tugged him down with her, curling into his side, “I’ll talk to her tomorrow.”

As it turned out, Raven didn’t talk to her the next day, because she and Diyoza got into a screaming match and she was sent to the other side of the ship to cool off, effectively quarantining herself from everyone but Shaw. She was definitely not complaining. 

 

  
  
  


_You were blessed by a different kind of inner view: it's all magnified._  
_The highs would make you fly, and the lows make you want to die._  
_And I was once there, hanging from that very ledge where you are standing._  
_So I know,_  
_I know,_  
_I know,_  
_It's easier to let go._  
  
_But I will learn to breathe this ugliness you see,_  
_So we can both be there and we can both share the dark._  
_And in our honesty, together we will rise out of our nightminds_  
_And into the light at the end of the fight._  
**Nightminds – Missy Higgins**  
  
  
_Murphy:_

He was just trying to mind his own business and not bother Clarke too much, but of course Bellamy had forced them all to eat lunch together and he ended up next to a mildly pissed off Clarke. He wished he was still allowed to barricade himself on the other side of the ship, but he promised Emori that he was making more of an effort and he wasn’t going to back down now. 

Raven was allowed back, on the basis that she didn’t try to attack Diyoza like she had the day before and she sat down the opposite end of the circular table to her, laughing with Shaw. Bellamy was next to Echo, across from Clarke, and Jordan was on Echo's other side. Abby was beside him, chatting about the algae farm, Emori was in between Abby and Murphy, and Murphy was on Clarke’s left, keeping an eye on her, making sure she wasn’t too anxious. But Diyoza was chatting animatedly to Clarke about her time in the valley, asking her about what she did for food and where she got the supplies for her sketches, and Clarke was smiling happily, looking almost at ease. 

“We found a book of them; there were more?” Emori asked, her mouth full of food, and Murphy couldn’t help but smile at her. _God, he loved that woman._

Clarke suddenly looked a little green, and she opened and closed her mouth a few times before answering lamely, “Not much else to do when there’s only two of you on the whole planet.”

Diyoza raised an eyebrow, “You’re downplaying your talent, Clarke, they were remarkable. Bellamy, Madi, Abby, everyone… I could have identified them all just by their picture.”

She only shrugged.

Murphy leaned over, “I flicked through the book we found while I watched McCreary; it was– you drew a lot of memories.”

She glanced at him, “Well, I told Madi all the stories, and I figured it would be easier if I drew them too.”

“That… that one of the rocket taking off…”

She gripped her spoon a little tighter before she answered, “What about it?”

He realised the whole table was watching them now, and he cursed himself for drawing attention to it, because Abby was staring at her openly and Bellamy was focussing pointedly at his food, while Echo looked annoyed. Even Raven and Shaw down the end had fallen silent waiting for her response. 

He tilted his head, “Is that really what you saw?”

“Yeah. I was on the radio tower, trying to follow Raven’s instructions, and I saw you take off. Then the whole system went down and I had to kick the dish back into alignment. I made it back to the lab about ten seconds before the wave hit. If I had been a fraction later I would have fried. As it was, I had some nasty radiation burns for a while, but they cleared up eventually. After a couple months I found the valley, and _oh god, it was amazing_. I went swimming in the lake, and picked berries and fixed my clothes. For a while it was almost perfect.”

“I’ve never been swimming – what’s it like?” Jordan asked excitedly. 

She looked at him, only warmth in her gaze, “It’s wonderful, provided you’re somewhere safe. The first person from the Ark who went swimming on Earth was Octavia, and the man you’re named after had to jump in and rescue her from a creature that attacked her.”

“Uncle Jasper the hero,” Jordan self-fived, the same motion that Monty and Jasper had done together hundreds of times, and Clarke’s mouth fell open slightly, a tortured look in her eyes. 

His eyebrows knitted together confusedly, “Did I do something wrong?”

She quickly altered her expression into a smile, “No, not at all, I just… haven’t seen that in a long time.”

“Oh yeah, Dad taught me,” he beamed.

She looked a little stuck for words, so Murphy pushed his bowl away and leaned forward on his elbows to distract her, “When did you find Madi?”

“58 days after Praimfaya. I was…” She cleared her throat and ducked her head, “I was using the radio–”

For some reason, Bellamy’s gaze shot up, but Clarke didn’t seem to notice. 

“–and I noticed her watching me. I chased after her and she led me right into a bear trap. Took me a few weeks to get her to trust me, but after a while, we just seemed to fit.” 

“Sounds like my kind of kid,” Murphy grinned, and she flashed him a half-smile in return. 

“Yeah I think the exact words I used were, _‘only two people left on Earth and one of them is the child from hell’_ so, definitely your kind of kid,” she returned to her food, a crinkle in her cheeks that was almost joyous compared to how she’d been the last few days.

So of course, that was when Echo spoke, “Speaking of which, we need to wake Heda up.”

Clarke’s whole body tensed, “No we don’t.”

“She’s the commander, she should be involved in making these decisions,” Echo said, like it was obvious. 

“She may be the commander, but she’s also a child, and I don’t want to throw her into a situation where she’s out of her depth and has to start making decisions for the whole of humanity. That’s not fair on her.”

“But leaving her out of everything is fair to you?” 

Clarke pushed her chair back and stood to leave, “We’re not waking her up yet. That’s my decision and it’s final, and I don’t have to explain myself to you.”

“What about Madi’s choice?” Echo hissed, “Remember the last time you tried to stop her performing her duty?”

“It’s not your decision, Echo,” she said quietly, and started moving away from the table. Murphy shot up and jumped forward, grabbing her arm, and she whipped around and shoved him against the wall, her forearm across his chest to stop him pushing back, “Don’t you _dare_ , Murphy!”

“I was just going to say–”

“I know exactly what you were going to say. Leave it alone.” She sounded stern but there was a pleading look in her eyes, begging him not to draw attention to her pain, and he understood. He was about to tell her as much, to explain that he would talk to her about it later, but the words never made it to his lips. Suddenly there was a blade below her chin, and Murphy glanced across to see Echo standing between them, pointing her sword at Clarke. 

“Step away,” she commanded. 

Clarke only straightened her shoulders and leaned into the sharp metal, “Or what?”

“What the hell are you doing?” Murphy asked Echo angrily, and she frowned in surprise.

“Protecting you.”

“From what? Clarke’s not going to hurt me; it's _Clarke_. Back the fuck off,” he growled, and Echo slowly lowered the sword. All the fight seemed to leave Clarke, and she released Murphy and stepped back. He realised that the whole table was in various stages of leaping towards them, although he didn’t know if it was to stop Clarke or Echo. Bellamy was the closest, almost at Echo’s heels, but Raven and Shaw were both standing, frozen in shock, and Abby was moving towards her daughter with a worried look on her face. 

Clarke made to leave the room and Bellamy tried to reach out to her, but she flinched away, snapping, _“Don’t touch me!”_

His hand fell off her shoulder in surprise, and she stormed from the room. Everyone turned back to look at Murphy and he rolled his eyes dramatically, “Way to go, guys, really excellent conflict de-escalation. And you wonder why I stayed on one half of the Ring.”

He strode past them all and once he was out of sight, he sprinted down to the airlocks, panicked that she had gone down there, but she wasn’t anywhere to be seen. He jogged back up to her room, and knocked. 

“I’m fine, Murphy,” she said, muffled. 

“I don’t doubt it Princess, but _I’m_ not. My friend just got threatened and I’m worried about her,” he called through the door. 

“I get threatened all the time,” she grumbled. 

“Yeah but you don’t always encourage it,” he said accusingly, “I saw the way you leaned into the sword, Clarke.”

She opened the door, and he could see the tear tracks on her cheeks and the way the whites of her eyes were pink and inflamed. He could see the defeat in the way she was carrying herself, the slump of the shoulders that told him she was on the verge of giving up.

 _Fuck,_ he thought, _she is **really** not okay. Tread carefully, Murphy. _

What he said instead was, “Buck up Princess, it could be worse. You could be McCreary.”

 

  
  
  
  


_I don't know why they always seem so dismal_  
_Thunderstorms, clouds, snow and a slight drizzle_  
_Whether it's the weather or the ledges by my bed_  
_Sometimes death seems better than the migraine in my head_  
  
_Am I the only one I know_  
_Waging my wars behind my face and above my throat_  
_Shadows will scream that I'm alone_  
**Migraine – 21 Pilots**  
  
  
_Clarke:_

She hovered in the doorway, staring up at him as she tried to fight the tears back down, and she expected him to pity her, but he didn’t look sympathetic or annoyed, he just looked concerned. She swiped under her eyes, flicking the dampness away, and tried to think of something to say. Then the tears flooded out over her lashes again without warning and she sobbed and covered her face with her hands. 

“Whoa, hey, it’s okay,” Murphy murmured, and he pulled her into a bony hug. She didn’t resist, tucking her chin into his shoulder and gripping his back tightly, and she relaxed a little because it was so nice to be held again, even if it was just a hug from Murphy. She’d been so alone for so long, and the only times she’d been properly held by someone she loved were when Bellamy had rescued her from Diyoza and when he’d wrapped his arms around her as they looked out over the planet with two suns together, listening to Monty. Both of those moments were marred with pain – the first was physical, her injuries from the shock collar; the second was emotional, listening to a good man say goodbye. She had missed it, being supported physically, and she welcomed Murphy’s efforts at comforting her. 

But it didn’t change her decision.

She pulled back and took a shuddering breath, “I’m really fine, Murphy. I promise.”

“Forgive me if I don’t take your word for it, seeing as you’re crying right now,” he pointed out.

She chuckled, “Really, I swear. I’m just…”

“Tired?” He asked, eyebrows raised, and she laughed again and leaned her head on his shoulder.

“Yeah. I’m just tired,” she murmured, and he looped an arm around her shoulders and guided her back into her room. He tugged her covers aside and she lay down and closed her eyes, trying to hold back the wave of anguish cresting in her chest. 

As he pulled them back over her, he frowned, “They’ll come around, Clarke.”

She almost scoffed at him, barely managing to keep the derision out of her voice when she said, “Sure.”

She wasn’t sure how long he stood over her, wanting to say something but restraining himself, but eventually she heard her door open and then latch, and there were hushed voices outside her door. 

“Is she alright?” That was Abby. 

“She’s tired,” Murphy replied. 

“Why did she get so angry with you?” Emori’s voice sounded almost musical through the walls, and Clarke found herself drifting off. 

“She wasn’t angry at me, she was angry at Echo, I just happened to get in the way,” he lied.

“I don’t know why Echo threatened her,” Emori mused, “It seemed like a bit of an overreaction, but then I suppose we don’t know what happened between them in the valley. Maybe they fought?”

“Oh I’ll be having a talk with Echo about getting involved in fights that have nothing to do with her, trust me. I can fight my own battles,” he grouched, and the voices moved further into the hallway until Clarke was left with only her thoughts for company. 

She clung to her pillow a little tighter as the self-loathing settled around her like a coat she couldn’t shrug off, and the sharp thoughts in the dark corners of her mind came creeping into the light, hissing at her that she meant nothing, that nothing mattered, that she only made things worse. 

Everyone on the ship was playing out their own melody, melding with each other in mellifluent harmony, and Clarke felt like a flat note, a wrong chord, a blip on the sheet music. She was humming a different song, and no-one wanted to hear it. 

The last thought she had before she fell asleep was that she had finally managed to break everything she cared about. 

 

 

  
  
  


_You don't wanna hurt me_  
_But see how deep the bullet lies_  
_Unaware I'm tearing you asunder_  
_Oh, there is thunder in our hearts_  
  
_Is there so much hate for the ones we love?_  
_Well tell me, we both matter, don't we?_  
_You_  
_It's you and me_  
_It's you and me won't be unhappy_  
  
_And if I only could_  
_I'd make a deal with God_  
_And I'd get him to swap our places_  
_Be running up that road_  
_Be running up that hill_  
_Be running up that building_  
_Say, if I only could…_  
**Running Up That Hill – Kate Bush**  
  
  
_Bellamy:_

Murphy was angry with him, and he didn’t know why. He knew that after Clarke disappeared, Murphy had confronted Echo about not getting involved in things that didn’t concern her, and that she hadn’t taken it well, but he had never yelled at him. He avoided him, and when they were in the same room, Murphy only ever looked annoyed to be there, and refused to direct anything he said towards him. 

He didn’t know what he was supposed to have done wrong, and he was intending to ask him about it at dinner, but Raven had distracted him with discussions of terraforming, and he caught Murphy shooting _her_ a few choice looks as well, which meant that at least he wasn't alone on the man’s shit-list. The last time he remembered Murphy being this way was in the week before he commandeered half the Ring for himself, and Bellamy was more than a little worried about a repeat occurrence. 

But Murphy wasn’t being confrontational, just quietly fuming at everyone except Emori, who seemed to be only mildly irritated by his behaviour, or maybe she just hadn’t noticed. He was snapped out of his reverie by Abby tapping his shoulder. She had spent most of the last two days doing stocktake in the infirmary, but she told him that she would definitely be at the meeting to discuss the possible use of weapons on the planet. He nodded and told her it would be on the bridge at 10am, and she smiled and said as long as she was finished counting bandages and needles by then, she wouldn’t miss it.

Echo leaned into his side and joked about something, but he couldn’t seem to find it funny, not with Murphy glaring daggers at him across the kitchen, and Clarke absent from dinner altogether. He felt the lack of her more keenly than he had in a long time, but he didn’t know if she’d even let him approach her, not after everything.

They were back at the beginning – a blazing sun reaching out to a cold star as it spun ever so slightly out of reach, dancing around each other, neither one willing to break their orbit for the other.

* * *

* * *

The next day, everyone was gathered on the bridge, as they had been every day for the last week, and Bellamy was listening intently to something Emori was saying, when a display on one of the monitors let out shrill beep. 

Raven leaned over, “Looks like a video message.”

“Why would anyone send a video message, we’re all here?” Echo asked, eyes darting around. 

“It’s definitely coming from onboard the ship, so it’s one of us,” Raven said, frowning, and opened the flashing symbol. 

Clarke appeared on the screen, her eyebrows drawn together and her hands wringing in her lap. She looked… different. Something was off. She wasn’t even looking at the camera, her head ducked to stare at her twisting fingers.

“Shit,” Murphy breathed, but Bellamy barely heard him, because Clarke opened her mouth and it felt like she was stabbing him in the heart.

 _“Hey, Bellamy,”_ she murmured, _“If you’re watching this, then it means I’m about to… It means I went through with it.”_

Bellamy’s gaze swept the room, but there was no Clarke to be seen, which was bizarre, because he had been so certain she was there not five minutes ago, but now he wasn’t so sure. Maybe he hadn’t seen her since this morning? Had he even glimpsed her since yesterday? Why couldn’t he remember? His eyes flicked back to the screen when Clarke spoke again. 

_“I want you to know… I need you to know that this isn’t your fault,”_ she explained, and there were flecks of light in her eyelashes that hadn’t been there before, _“Whatever happens, Bellamy, **none of this is your fault.** I just… **I can’t** … I can’t do this anymore.”_

“Can’t do what?” Abby asked frantically, the answer already in the back of her mind, but she pushed it away. _No._ This was Clarke. She wouldn’t do that. 

_“I suppose this was almost inevitable – it makes sense that the Commander of Death finally goes out by her own hand. You don’t need me anymore anyway,”_ and now the light was dripping from her eyelashes and landing on her arms, fading as it slipped out of the light from the screen.

Raven clapped her hands over her mouth, smothering a yell as she realised what this video was supposed to be. 

_“Live a good life, Bellamy. Live a **better** life,”_ she paused, and Bellamy could feel the silence wrapping around everyone on that bridge, rooting them all to the spot as they waited for her to continue, _“I need you to take care of Madi for me, like you promised. Tell her… tell her that I’m so proud, and I don’t regret a single second since I met her, not one, because she is… she’s **so** special. Tell her I love her, and I will **always** love her. And tell Raven that I’m sorry.”_

A sob tore from Raven’s lips and she was suddenly struggling to support her own weight. Shaw dropped one arm to her waist to hold her up and she fisted his shirt between her fingers, eyes still locked on the monitor. 

Clarke almost smiled, _“Murphy was right, but I’m sure he knows that by now.”_

Bellamy glanced around, but Murphy had disappeared. What was he right about? What did he know that the rest of them were so in the dark on?

Clarke fidgeted in her seat, pulling a small rectangle from her pocket, and held it up beside her head, _“This… this is a tape, filled with every call I made on the radio for the last six years – to you.”_

Bellamy’s heart stopped. 

_“I should have told you sooner, but I… it doesn’t matter now. I saved all of them, because it was like a diary of Madi growing up, and maybe because I wanted to remember what it felt like to have hope, but…”_ she trailed away and he could see the hopelessness in her eyes, reflecting back into his own, burning through his irises as he watched another part of her give up, _“I’m giving them to you. Maybe they’ll give **you** hope now.”_

“No,” he murmured, “No, she can’t…”

“Where is she?” Abby asked, and she sounded almost hysterical, frantic as she stared around at the people who were supposed to know Clarke better than anyone, and all of them just shook their heads because they had no idea. 

“She isn’t…” Echo muttered, but she didn’t seem to know what to say, she just looked guiltily at Clarke’s tortured face, all of them watching as the blonde woman tried to pull herself together enough to say goodbye. 

Clarke’s breath hitched and she scrubbed her hands over her face before she spoke again. When she did, she sounded wrecked, and his heart fractured a little more, _“It’s just… it’s **too much** , Bellamy. And I tried… I tried **so** hard, but everything is just so messed up and I’m not… I can’t do this. **I’m so sorry.** I never wanted to hurt you. All I ever wanted was for you to be happy, and since I came back into your life, all we’ve done is hurt each other. I’m not good for you, Bellamy. I’m no good for **anyone**. And that’s okay. It’s okay.”_

“No it’s not,” Emori said, and there was a wobble in her voice, “It’s not okay, what the hell is she talking about? She can’t do this!”

 _“But being here… it’s too hard, and I’m so tired. I can’t keep doing this. Not anymore. I waited for you for six years, Bellamy, and I… **I can’t–”**_ Her voice cracked and the tears really fell in earnest as she stared into the camera, looking through it, right into his aching soul. He vividly remembered the last time she had said those words to him, _‘Bellamy, I can’t–”_ his response had been, _‘if I’m on that list, you’re on that list’_ but now he had nothing; there was nothing he could possibly say to fix this. He tore himself apart from the inside – a star collapsing in on itself – as he watched the woman he loved tell him that she just couldn’t fathom living anymore. 

She sobbed brokenly, hands shaking as she tried to brush the tears from her cheeks, _“I’m still waiting, and I can’t wait for you anymore. It’s not fair to you, and it’s… it’s killing me. I love you so much, Bellamy, and I **tried** to fight, for you… but my fight is over.”_

Then the screen went black and the bridge erupted in chaos. 

“Where is she?” Abby yelled, “Raven, get the security cameras up, find my daughter, _now!”_

Raven snapped into action, Shaw at her side, and the two of them brought every room in the ship up onto the massive screen in the center of the room, scanning it for any signs of movement. 

The room was spinning and Bellamy was spiralling – he couldn’t lose Clarke, not now, not ever. Never again. 

“Found her!” Shaw called out, pointing at one of the screens, and Raven pulled it forward, made it the only camera angle on screen. Clarke was leaning against the airlock door, pressing her forehead to the cold metal, and as they watched, Murphy sprinted into frame. 

Raven pressed a button and audio flooded the room.

“You locked the airlocks,” Clarke said numbly. Bellamy blinked – Murphy had known. _That_ was why she said that he was right, that was why he had disappeared the second the message showed up. Because he knew she would do something like this. 

“Of course I did,” Murphy drawled, “You didn’t think I would let you leave without a fight, did you?”

“Let me go, Murphy,” she begged. 

“Clarke, you don’t need to do this. I told you that even if you’ve got no-one else, I’m here. I meant that. We can talk this through together. You don’t have to do it alone anymore.”

“That’s what Bellamy said, and then he left,” she still wasn’t looking at him, just gazing out at the vast emptiness of space, and Murphy glanced up at the camera beside them. He knew they were watching.

“That was 131 years ago, it’s isn’t–”

“125.”

He looked confused, “What?”

“He didn’t leave me 131 years ago, I stayed. It was _my choice_. He left me 125 years ago.”

“What are you talking about?” Murphy asked, concerned. Everyone turned to look at Bellamy, and he felt his throat tighten, because he knew exactly what she was going to say. 

“When Octavia was going to kill me, he came to see me, he told me that he’d poisoned her, that we would leave, _together_ , and then he left me chained up while he put the flame in my daughter,” Clarke said, almost monotone, like she was reciting a grocery list instead of reliving a heartbreaking betrayal. 

Murphy quirked an eyebrow at the camera, “He…? Oh we are gonna have a _conversation_ about that.”

Bellamy felt the guilt crashing around his shoulders again. Raven, Echo, Emori and Diyoza were all staring at him in surprise, Shaw and Jordan looked almost offended, and Abby looked downright furious. She seemed like she was about to say something, until Clarke spoke again and all of them whipped back around. 

“I can’t even trust Bellamy… I’m alone.”

“No you’re not, what about Madi?”

“She doesn’t need me anymore,” she had never sounded so small as when she said those words, and Bellamy felt his heart shattering all over again.

“Clarke–”

“None of you do, Murphy. It’s okay. You’ll get over it.”

“Your mom won’t.”

“My mom has Kane, and Jackson, and plenty of people who love her. She’ll be okay.”

“Bellamy won’t.”

Her gaze finally tore from the airlock over to Murphy, and she turned to face him, crossing her arms and squaring up to him defiantly, “He managed fine last time.”

“No, he barely hung on last time. If you die again it’ll break him, Clarke. You really hate him that much?”

“I don’t hate him, I’ve never–” She cut herself off, “This isn’t about revenge, this is about… I’ve spent every day since before we touched the ground the first time just thinking about what’s best for everyone else. In the beginning it was my dad, then the 100, then it was the people in Mt Weather, and saving people from the City of Light, and then the whole world was dying and _all of that was on me_. I was seventeen, and the fate of the human race was on my shoulders. _Mine_. Still, I bore it, so no-one else had to. I sacrificed myself so that you could all live, and I waited to die, and I _still_ didn’t get to be at peace. I struggled through Praimfaya, breathing in radioactive air but unable to die, and one day I put a gun against my head and begged for it all to go away, because I didn’t have a reason to live anymore. Then I found the valley, and Madi, and every day was about keeping her alive. I didn’t have to live for myself – I was living for _her_ , because I couldn’t leave her alone. Then when you all came back, I thought maybe it would be different, maybe I could breathe again, but I still can’t, Murphy! It hurts. It’s like the radioactive air after Praimfaya all over again; _it burns_ , and it won’t stop. And I just don’t want to be in pain anymore. I don’t want to keep living for everyone else. I want to die, for myself. For once, I want to do something for me.”

“Please, Clarke, don’t do this.”

“Why not?” She whispered, a blank look overtaking her face, “Really, Murphy, why not? I’m not making things better by being here, I’m just… existing. And I’ve got nothing to exist for anymore.”

 

 

  
  
  


_Let's take this a second at a time_  
_Let's take this one song, this one rhyme_  
_Together, let's breathe_  
_Together, to the beat_  
_But there's hope out the window_  
_So that's where we'll go_  
_Let's go outside and all join hands_  
_But until then you'll never understand_  
  
_That you all have guns_  
_And you never put the safety on_  
_And you all have plans_  
_To take it, to take it, don't take it, take it, take it_  
**Guns For Hands – 21 Pilots**  
  
  
_Diyoza:_

The second she heard those words Diyoza was on her way down to the airlocks, moving as fast as her pregnancy would allow. 

She knew what that felt like – maybe not the isolation, but the resignation to your own fate, to the inevitability of death – she knew it like an old friend, and as she moved quickly through the corridors, her hand brushed the scar on her neck. 

All it took was one moment of courage to bring that knife across her neck. One instant of pain for an absence of suffering. It had seemed like a good trade at the time. Now she knew it wasn’t. 

She was also pretty sure that no-one else had clocked the gun at Clarke’s hip yet. It was difficult to see over the security footage, but she wasn't even certain if Murphy had noticed it, standing five feet from her. If someone didn’t get down there soon, there would be no way of stopping her from going through with it. 

She burst into the room, the door banging loudly against the wall, and Clarke jumped almost out of her skin, spinning around to face her. Murphy was behind her, raising his eyebrow in Diyoza’s direction, as if asking why she was there, why she would choose to be here when no-one else was. 

“Clarke, I know this seems like the only option right now, but trust me, it isn’t,” she said, slightly out of breath. 

Clarke only pressed her lips together determinedly, shaking her head, “You’re not going to talk me out of this, Diyoza.”

“Clarke, come on–”

Clarke yanked the gun from her belt and held it up to her own temple, eyes flaring dangerously, as she backed against the airlock door and Diyoza sighed internally – so much for getting ahead of it. 

Murphy stepped forward and Clarke’s gaze flicked to him, “Unlock the door, Murphy. Let me die peacefully. I don’t want you to see me put a bullet in my head. You won’t ever forget it. Watching someone get floated hurts less.”

Diyoza was suddenly struck with an idea. It was risky, but it looked like the only option. Unfortunately, she didn’t have an angle: but Murphy did. She met his eyes, slyly pulling her own gun out of its holster on the side away from Clarke, and his eyes widened slightly as he realised what she was suggesting. He nodded, once, and then turned to look at Clarke, who hadn’t noticed the subtle exchange, and moved a little closer, but she gripped the handle tighter, her knuckles white as she cocked the gun. 

“It won’t hurt less, because you’ll still be gone,” he pleaded, but she was unmoved, her finger brushed against the trigger and he stepped forward, _“Clarke, PLEASE!?”_

Clarke took a deep breath, an action that felt far too final, far too world shattering for such a small thing, and Diyoza moved. 

She threw the gun. 

 

 

  
  
  


_I can feel your heart hanging in the air_  
_I'm counting every step as you climb the stairs_  
_It's buried in your bones, I see it in your closed eyes_  
_Turning in, this is harder than we know_  
_We hold it in the most when we're wearing thin_  
**Hurricane – Fleurie**  
  
  
_Murphy:_

He didn’t want to. 

That was the only thought that spun around his head as he snatched the gun Diyoza tossed him out of the air. 

He didn’t want to. 

He pointed it at his friend, and the sudden flash of fear on Clarke’s face said that she knew what he was going to do before he did it. 

He didn’t want to. 

Her hand flexed on the gun, ready to end her life with just a twitch of a finger. 

He didn’t want to. 

He got there first, squeezing the trigger. The bang echoed throughout the metal room, filling up the space with its deafening finality, and Clarke dropped her gun. 

He didn’t want to – yet he did it. He wanted to throw up. 

He shot his friend, his friend who he loved, who he thought was dead, who had sacrificed so much for him and everyone else. _He **shot** her_. She was staring at him with something like betrayed hurt in her face as the gun slipped from her fingers and clattered to the floor. Her eyes were wide when she stumbled back and slid down the wall, ending up propped up against it on the floor, hands pressing into her abdomen where blood was now soaking her shirt and staining her fingers. He tossed his own gun aside and dropped to his knees beside her, Diyoza right there with him, taking her other side and examining the wound. 

Tears were sliding down Clarke’s cheeks, and her eyes were deeper and vaster than galaxies when she looked up at him and asked softly, “Why did you do that?”

He was crying now too, he knew it, because something was dripping down onto his forearms as he put his hands on top of hers to staunch the flow of blood.

“We can’t lose you again, Clarke, we just _can’t,_ ” he said, anxiously glancing between her pallid face and Diyoza’s concerned one. 

“That’s not your decision to make,” she breathed, and then her eyes fluttered shut.

“Clarke?” He called out, and she moaned weakly, but otherwise didn’t move. 

“We need to get her to Abby,” Diyoza said authoritatively, and the words had barely left her lips before everyone stormed into the room, Abby leading the charge. Emori and Echo were clinging to each other, Raven was a mess, Jordan looked terrified, and Bellamy hadn’t looked so distraught in 131 years – not since he’d lost Clarke the last time. Diyoza stood up and stepped back, but Murphy was frozen in place, panicked out of his mind as he felt Clarke’s pulse stuttering beneath his fingertips. 

Emori knelt down and wrapped her arms around his shoulders while Abby gently nudged him out of the way, putting her own hands into the area now pooling with black liquid, and glanced over her shoulder at Shaw who was wheeling a hospital bed closer, “I need help lifting her.”

Bellamy didn’t hesitate, he was scooping her into his arms before Abby even finished the sentence. He lifted her carefully, making sure Abby moved with him, keeping pressure on the wound, and turned slowly, laying her down. 

“Just let me go,” Clarke murmured, her eyes still tamped shut and her skin pale and clammy as her body started shaking. 

“Not a chance, Princess,” Bellamy growled.

She mumbled something else but it was lost to the numbness of her lips and as the group began following the bed down the hallway, her hand slipped off her stomach, dangling uselessly over the edge of the gurney.

Bellamy grasped it with one of his, lifting it back up, but not letting go. He stared down at her, grief and anguish contorting his features, and as they finally reached the med bay and wheeled her into the corner so that Abby could hook her up to the machines, Murphy heard him breathe, “Don’t you dare leave me, Clarke. I can’t survive losing you again.”

And for once, he was in complete and total agreement with Bellamy. If Clarke died, he wasn’t sure _any of them_ would recover a second time. 

He sat in the corner of the room with the rest of them, Emori’s arms around his chest, hugging him tight as they watched Abby set up a heart monitor and an IV, ripping Clarke’s shirt up and away from the place where the bullet still resided. 

The irregular beeping of Clarke’s heartbeat filled the room, and Abby pulled a scalpel from the selection of medical supplies beside her. 

“Please tell me she’ll be okay,” Murphy whispered, “Please tell me you can fix this?”

She didn’t even look at him, “I can fix this. You did the right thing, John."

Then why did it feel like he’d just murdered someone he loved?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really sorry for ending it there, but if I didn't split this somewhere it was going to end up being an insanely long one-shot, so you have to wait a little while for me to be emotionally competent enough to finish the second half. It'll probably be up in under a week, because this idea has been crawling under my skin for a while and I need to get it out of my brain.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading this, it really means a lot, and I really appreciate kudos and comments, even if they're just untelligible screeching. 
> 
> Come and yell at me on tumblr, I'm @talistheintrovert.


	2. Look Up (The Stars Are All Exploding)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While Clarke lies unconscious, recovering from her wounds, her family listens to her radio calls, and some of them come to some realisations of their own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So you may have noticed that I changed it from two halves to three parts, and it's because this section got REALLY out of hand. So the second half has become the middle, and I promise the third chapter will actually end up being the last chapter, no matter how long it gets. 
> 
> I really hope you're still invested in this story, because I have worked incredibly hard on it.

_Everything's different_  
_My head in the clouds_  
  
_I hit this corner_  
_With my foot on the gas_  
_I started sliding, I lose it_  
_Everything's different just like that_  
  
_Oh my God, wait and see_  
_What will soon become of me_  
_Frozen heart_  
_Screaming wheels_  
_Does that screaming come from me?_  
_So damn lucky, when went on ahead_  
_You say, you say, I see you later_  
_I heard what you said a few minutes later_  
_I'm sliding_  
_Everything's different, again_  
**So Damn Lucky – Dave Matthews**  
  
_Clarke:_

She was floating… 

… or maybe she was falling…

…everything hurt, and her whole universe was on fire, burning up behind her eyelids…

…she screamed soundlessly into the void, begging for it to take her away as the fire engulfed her…

…and then her heart was icy, no longer beating, just lying uselessly in her chest…

…and she was lost…

…for a moment, she was gone, her agony removed, as she felt herself blissfully fading from the world…

…everything slowed, and she felt like she was drifting into an endless, dreamless sleep…

…and then she snapped back, sliding back into reality as her heart suddenly jumped to life…

…she tried to fight it, but it wouldn’t allow her to slip away, latching her to reality with every beat and flicker…

…the pain returned next, ripping through her, making her twist through the shadows her mind had conjured…

…spinning in infinities as the universe stole the breath from her lungs… 

…she was tumbling through the darkness, unable to stop…

…she was falling…

…or was she landing?

 

  
  
  
  


 

_You won't talk me into it next time,_  
_If I'm going away your hearts coming too._  
_'Cause I miss your hands I miss your face._  
_When I get back let's disappear without a trace._  
  
_'Cause it's been ten days without you in my reach,_  
_And the only time I've touched you is in my sleep._  
_But time has changed nothing at all_  
_You're still the only one that feels like home._  
_I've tried cutting the ropes,_  
_Tried letting go but you're still the only one_  
_That feels like home._  
  
_So tell me, did you really think…_  
_Oh tell me, did you really think_  
_I had gone when you couldn't see me anymore?_  
**Ten Days – Missy Higgins**  
  
_Bellamy:_

He could still hear the gunshot. 

They had been watching the monitor, watching Diyoza inch closer, and when Clarke had lifted the barrel of her gun to her head, he had cried out, but before she could pull the trigger, Murphy did. 

He had almost dropped to his knees, collapsing against the control panel as he whispered the only word running through his head, “No.”

Raven had screamed, Abby had grabbed Shaw’s arm and they had both sprinted to the med bay, Emori had covered her face with her hands, tears spilling through, Echo was shell-shocked and Jordan looked horrified, but Bellamy…

Bellamy was dying. 

He knew it. 

When that bullet hit Clarke, he felt it just as keenly as if it had been aimed at him. Agony tore through him, numbness following soon after, spreading out from behind his eyes as tears pooled against his lashes, blurring his vision. 

When Raven gripped at his elbow to drag him down to the airlocks, he had pulled himself together enough to lift Clarke onto the gurney, to hold her hand as she faded away. He had begged her not to leave him, told her he wouldn’t survive. He knew he wouldn’t – if Clarke died, that was it; he was done for. Binary suns are meant to exist in pairs – one without the other cannot exist. He had always wondered why he hadn’t completely lost himself on the Ring, but once he got to the ground it was clear – he was still alive because Clarke was still breathing. 

If she stopped, he would too. It was that simple. 

After a few minutes, Abby had kicked them all out so she could work, only allowing Shaw to stay, and it took Echo, Emori and Shaw’s combined efforts to get him out of there.

They tried to take him back to his quarters, but he decided that if he couldn’t be in the room, he would be right outside it, waiting. He slid down the wall and put his head in his hands, refusing to budge. Raven shuffled awkwardly down beside him, stretching her bad leg out and bringing her other up to her chest, pressing her chin into her knee. 

“She’ll be okay,” she muttered, but she didn’t sound convincing, and there was a muted tone in her voice, one that sung of lost friends and empty promises and grief beyond measure.

They had all lost so much, and now they had not only lost Monty and Harper, but they had pushed Clarke away enough to lose her too. When had that happened? When had they decided that Octavia or Echo or Diyoza could be forgiven, but Clarke couldn’t? When had they forgotten everything she had sacrificed for them?

He finally lifted his head from his hands, unsure how long he’d been sitting there, expecting to be alone with Raven, but everyone else was camped out in front of the infirmary as well. Echo was lying on the floor, staring at the ceiling with an unreadable expression, Jordan was curled up in the corner looking horrified, and Emori and Diyoza were sitting against the opposite wall in front of Bellamy, either side of Murphy, whose hands were blacker than the space between the stars in the night sky. He was shaking slightly as he stared at the black blood, almost dried on his skin, and Emori was stroking his hair and murmuring softly to him. After a moment, Diyoza reached over and grabbed one of his hands, pulling it into her lap and clasping it with both of her own. 

“You did good, Murphy,” she said sincerely, but he just shook his head. 

“I should have done better, I should have talked her out of it, I should have–”

“You know as well as I do that if someone’s determined to do it, they’re going to do it. It’s not your fault.”

“It’s not _hers_ ,” he snapped aggressively, before taking a deep breath and saying more steadily, “It isn’t her fault either.”

“I know,” Diyoza said softly, staring at the wall with a haunted look. Bellamy wondered how many men she’d seen fall to war, and how many more had come home but left themselves on the battlefield.

Murphy exhaled through his nose, still struggling to remain calm, “Still, I should have… I didn’t know she’d recorded that. I… went up to her room first, looking for her. I knew she was thinking about it, but I didn’t know that she’d planned it.”

“How long have you known?” Bellamy’s voice was hoarse from sitting in silence for so long, but Murphy’s head shot up. 

He met Bellamy’s weary gaze with one of his own, eyes bloodshot and blinking back tears when he said, “Four days.”

“Four days?” Raven hissed, “ _Four days_ , and you never thought to say anything to one of us?”

“Yeah cause that would have gone down so well,” Murphy snapped sarcastically, _“Hey guys, can I just talk to you about the fact that Clarke feels abandoned by all of you, because you’re shutting her out for doing something that **any one of you** would have done if the situation had been reversed, and also she has **years** of built up PTSD from constantly having to make the hard decisions that none of **you** are willing to shoulder, oh and just in case you weren’t aware, she hates herself and can’t **ever** manage to see herself as a good person, so no matter what any of you think of her, I can guarantee she’s thought worse about herself?_ Yeah. I’m sure you would have all run to her room to apologise.”

“How do you know we wouldn’t have?” Raven asked, offended and furious. Her grief had always given way to anger, while Bellamy’s had always managed to cut him down, to sweep his legs from under him and leave him lost in his own head. 

“Because when Clarke got angry at me, Echo pulled a knife on her.” Murphy said, looking her dead in the eyes, “And not _one_ of you tried to stop her. You just watched. You let it happen. You have this idea of who you are and who Clarke is in your heads, and if you admit that Clarke actually deserves your forgiveness, or your time, you’ll have to compromise that idea, which means you have to re-evaluate who you are as well, and none of you want to do that.”

“But you did,” Emori pointed out, stroking his cheek. 

“No, I didn’t, I just never hated Clarke to begin with. Cockroaches don’t hate other cockroaches for protecting them and theirs, especially when the other cockroach saved the lives of so many people. Especially when the other cockroach sacrifices time and time again, with no reward, or even acknowledgement. Especially when the other cockroach is his _friend_ , and she’s dying in a bed from a gunshot wound that _he_ gave her, because no-one who _claims_ to love her cared enough to notice she already had one foot on the other side!” He bellowed angrily, and then the rage gave way to grief and he broke down sobbing. Emori clung to him, her arms tight around his shoulders and his chest, holding him close, while Diyoza just continued to stroke his hand in hers. 

Bellamy felt his words like a gut punch. 

Murphy was right – the signs had been there, they just hadn’t been paying attention. 

She had been pulling away from them for days, and they had been so busy arguing over cryopods and terrain maps that they hadn’t bothered see it. 

His mind replayed all the small moments that hadn’t made sense over the last week – Clarke refusing to touch him once they woke up their friends, Clarke keeping to her room except for meetings on the bridge and dinner with everyone, Clarke seeming distant, Clarke barely paying attention, Clarke looking exhausted all the time, Clarke shoving Murphy against a wall, Clarke screaming at him not to touch her, Clarke with that sad look in her eyes, like she was already saying goodbye.

Ten days. 

Ten days since they’d woken up. 

Ten days where he should have seen it. 

Ten days in which he could have done something, _anything._

Ten days to tell her how he felt. 

Ten days to apologise for leaving her. 

Ten days, and he did _nothing._

He had promised himself once he got the ground and found out that she was alive, that he would never let her go again – that no matter where she went, he would be right there with her: _together_. He told himself that time hadn’t changed a thing between them, that he would always put her first, because she was Clarke, because she was his home. But time and grief had made him desperate – walking the razor’s edge of panicked and level-headed at all times. He needed to keep her safe, he couldn’t lose her again, but he also felt like he had no right anymore, no claim to her heart or even her friendship. When she was in danger, he tried to think with his head, be rational, like she wanted him to, pushing down his heart in an effort to convince himself that he wasn’t doing anything for love, he was doing it for the valley, for his family, for the greater good. He was so busy thinking about the most logical course of action that he hadn’t thought about how much it would hurt her to leave her there, chained up in the bunker, but once he did, he knew it couldn’t deny it anymore. He was doing it for _her_ , to protect _her_ , to keep her _safe_. All of it, _everything he did_ was so that he didn’t lose her again, and in doing so, he did the one thing she wouldn’t forgive him for, and then resented her for reacting the way she did. 

She thought he didn’t care anymore. 

She thought he was gone, and that’s why she betrayed him. He wished he could go back in time and tell her how wrong she was, how much he cared, but instead he was stuck here, sitting on the floor with his back pressed uncomfortably against icy metal. He was burning up; his skin feeling too hot against the growing cold of a world without Clarke Griffin in it. 

He was disgusted with himself. 

“Oh, I forgot, I found this on her desk,” Murphy pulled something from his pocket and held it up. Bellamy realised instantly what it was – the recordings of Clarke’s radio calls. Murphy pressed a button on the side, and suddenly Clarke’s voice was crackling through the speaker. 

_“Hey Bellamy. I don’t know if… I don’t know if this’ll work; hell, I’m not even sure I turned it on properly, but I’m tired of talking to myself, so I guess I’m gonna talk to you instead… I found the rover. Dug it out of the sand and drove it to Polis to see if I could reach the others in the bunker. I’m taking good care if it, I swear. I’m trying not to imagine how pissed you’d be if you came down in five years and I’d ruined it. I can almost hear you complaining about my choice of gears and the way I left the door open to sleep yesterday. I figured it didn’t matter – no-one’s here to steal from me – although I realised once I woke up to a rover full of sand that it probably wasn’t a good idea,”_ he could hear the smile in her voice when she said, _“I’ll clean it before you get back.”_

He scrubbed his hands over his face and tried to ignore the way his heart was suddenly thumping erratically against his ribcage. 

_“Where was I? Oh right, Polis. Up until that moment, I believed I’d live in the bunker with the others. With my mom. I can’t bear the thought of leaving her down there, but the hard truth is I could dig for years and never reach that door. I’ve been by myself now for two months. But this is the first time I feel alone. It’s like we were never here. Maybe we never should have been... How the hell am I gonna make it five years?”_ She sounded distressed now, the smile completely gone, and he ached to reach out to her, six years and 125 ago, and promise her that she would make it, that everything would be okay.

 _“I came to Arkadia looking for food or water, but all I found were ghosts. Part of me thinks that Jasper had the right idea; what’s the point if all there is, is pain and suffering?”_ She paused a moment, letting the question hang painfully in the air before she chuckled dryly, _**“Real** cheerful, Clarke.”_

Bellamy’s heart skipped a beat. 

Because that sounded like something he would say. 

Raven noticed too, and she leaned into his side, wrapping her arms around his elbow as they listened to their friend. 

_“I’m sorry, ignore me, okay, I haven’t had water in two days. I need to find some soon or I don’t think I’m gonna… Anyway, I doubt you can hear me on this piece of crap radio, but in case this the last time I get to do this, I just wanna say… please don’t feel bad about leaving me here. You did what you had to do. I’m proud of you.”_

The tape clicked. 

Tears spilled over his lashes, and he stopped trying to fight the wave of anguish crashing over him. 

 

  
  
  
  
  


_Never seen so many people_  
_Never felt so all alone_  
_Never taken so long to realise_  
_What I wanted all along_  
  
_Now I'm waiting all alone_  
_Waiting for the one_  
_I wish he'd come_  
_Now I'm here and I'm recording_  
_I'm waiting for the sun_  
_I wish he'd come_  
_I wish he'd come_  
**Waiting - Ayla**  
  
_Clarke’s Radio Calls:_

The next call was more muffled, hindered by a rhythmic pattering against metal, and she was laughing breathlessly as she spoke. 

_“It’s **raining!** Two months of burning lungs and dry skin and finally I get something good. God, it’s amazing, Bellamy, I can’t even describe it, it’s just… **raining**. I probably sound like a crazy person. Maybe I am; maybe the dehydration got to me before I filled up the flask, but I’m just… I was almost out of hope, and then it rained. I was never good at hoping, that was always your forte, but I’m holding onto it now. Harder than ever.”_

It clicked again.

* * *

  
  


_“Hey Bellamy. I ate bugs off the windshield today. It’s the first food I’ve seen in a while and I thought it would be more disgusting than it was. Maybe I just don’t remember what good food tastes like anymore. I wonder if I could find Monty and Jasper’s moonshine recipe somewhere? Maybe that would burn my tastebuds off enough to enjoy anything I find. Or just be drunk enough not to care.”_

Click.

* * *

  
  


_“Hey Bellamy. I know I said I would keep the rover in good condition, but it died. To be fair, it’s not my fault, a massive sandstorm hit and it decimated the solar panels. I tried to get them inside, but the storm was full of shards of glass, and the winds were too strong. I cut up my hands pretty badly, but otherwise I think I’m okay. Maybe I’ll go back for the rover one day, if I can find some supplies to fix it. I could use your help, actually.”_ She snorted, that almost-Bellamy voice coming out again, _“It’s just five years Clarke, what are you complaining about?”_

Click.

* * *

  
  


_“I don't know if I can do this anymore... Everything is just so **empty**. I’ve been walking in the desert for so long, and it’s just… it never ends, Bellamy. It just goes on and on and on and nothing ever changes. I’m just walking towards nothing, and I’m so tired, I’m so- I’m not sure if I can do this, Bellamy,”_ she sobbed, her breathing raspy even through the small speaker, _“I’m all alone, and I don’t even know if you’re still alive, and maybe I'm waiting for nothing, maybe I'm... Can you hear me? I... I don't... Five years is too long to wait for someone that might be dead. What’s the point in having hope if all it leads to is destruction?”_

Click.

* * *

  
  


_“Bellamy, I found… oh my god, I found a valley,”_ her voice was completely altered from the previous call, suddenly filled with excitement and lilting as she smiled, _“And a bird to eat, and somewhere to sleep that isn’t full of sand.”_

Click.

* * *

  
  


_“Hey Bellamy… I’ve been thinking a lot, stuck here alone. I used to think that life was about more than just surviving, but I’m not sure anymore; animals don’t feel guilty when they kill; they just do it. They kill, or they get killed. I tell myself that every life I took was for a reason, but the truth is the other side had reasons too – the grounders, the mountain men, even A.L.I.E – their reasons to want us dead were the same as ours: it was us or them, kill or be killed. Simple as that. So what now? What becomes of the Commander of Death when there’s no-one left to kill? I guess we’ll find out. Because my fight is over. The question is – who am I now?”_

Click.

* * *

  
  


_“Oh Bellamy, wait ‘til you see this place; it’s like the death wave jumped over the entire valley… unfortunately, the radiation didn’t. I’ve lost track of how many bodies we’ve burned since reaching the ground,”_ she paused for a long time, before she breathed, _“God, this would be so much easier if I knew you were alive; if I knew I was gonna see you again.”_

She huffed, irritated at herself, _“Positive thoughts, Clarke.”_

Click.

* * *

  
  


_“Hey Bellamy. It’s been 58 days. By now Monty should have the algae farm producing. How bad does it suck? No offense, Monty. And I found berries – a whole field of them – they’re not very sweet but they’re beautiful. I think that’s what they used to make the paint for–”_

Click.

* * *

  
  


_“Turns out I’m not alone,”_ she winced, sounding more than a little tense when she spoke next, gritting her teeth, _“There’s a child here – a nightblood girl. She can’t be any older than six, but she’s pretty intense. She led me into a bear trap this afternoon. I stitched it up, but there no anaesthetic, or anything to sterilize it, so I’m going to keep an eye on it and hope it doesn’t get infected.”_

She sounded like she was biting down more winces of pain, and her voice was languid and drowsy when she murmured, _“I miss you.”_

Click.

* * *

  
  


_“So it’s been a few days since I last called, sorry about that, but someone,”_ she said pointedly, _“Stole my stuff. She’s quiet, but I’m trying to teach her both English and Trig. I don’t want to make it seem like I want her to forget her old life. She should hold onto it. She’s pretty good at both already, for a six-year-old. You’d love her Bellamy; she’s volatile and headstrong, just like Octavia. Her name’s Madi. We’re looking out for each other.”_

Click.

* * *

  
  


The recordings kept going, one a day, Clarke just talking about her day to day activities, updating him on Madi’s progress, sometimes barely a sentence, sometimes five minutes, but always, always talking to Bellamy. 

_“Hey Bellamy…”_

Click.

* * *

  
  


_“97 days since Praimfaya…”_

Click.

* * *

  
  


_“104 days since Praimfaya…”_

Click.

* * *

  
  


_“Hey Bellamy. I took Madi over to the fields of berries today and used them to dye her hair. She was so excited; she told me that she wished my friend in the sky could see them. I had to tell her I had to pee so that she didn’t see me cry.”_

Click.

* * *

  
  


_“289 days since Praimfaya…”_

Click.

* * *

  
  


_“311 days since Praimfaya…”_

Click.

* * *

  
  


_“Hey Bellamy. It’s been a year. 365 days. I hope you’re all okay up there. How’re Echo and Emori adjusting to space? I don’t know why I’m asking, it’s not like you ever reply,”_ she grumbled, and sighed. A small voice said something in the background and then the voice rang out closer to the receiver.

_“Hello Bellamy! I’m Madi! Clarke told me I have to talk in English because you’re not very good at Trig.”_

_“Madi!”_ Clarke scolded.

_“What? That’s what you said.”_

_“Yeah, but you don’t need to tell **him** that.”_

_“Whatever,”_ the girl said dismissively before launching into a story about the fish they’d caught that day, teasing Clarke for falling in the water, while Clarke insisted that she had been pushed. 

Madi finally finished babbling excitedly down the radio and handed it back to Clarke, who smiled, _“We made it a year. Y’know, I think we’re gonna be okay.”_

 

  
  
  
  
  


 

_We don't talk_  
_We're not enough and the storms slowly arrives_  
_When the light turns and the cold times arise_  
  
_We were running out through the storm, through the night_  
_We were running in the dark, we were following our hearts_  
_And we would fall down and we would slowly fall apart_  
_We would slowly fall into the dark_  
_(And the cold times arise)_  
_(And the cold times arise)_  
**Falling – Michael Schulte**  
  
_Raven:_

They had been sitting there for hours, about eighteen months into the tapes, when Raven couldn’t take it anymore. It was too much – the hope with which Clarke talked about the future, the questions she asked about the Ring, the way her smile could be heard when she told stories she thought Monty would like, or Murphy, or _her._

She started thinking about all the times Clarke had stood by her, even when they barely knew each other – encouraging her, time and time again.

_“You can do this, okay?”_

_“Hey Raven? I’d pick you first.”_

_“We’re not going back: we’re going up.”_

_“Raven, think – you’ve solved bigger problems than this before.”_

All the times Clarke believed in her were just running around and around inside her skull, and then other, meaner memories began to surface.

Raven screaming at her after Finn died; _“You’re the only murderer here!”_

Raven and A.L.I.E tormenting her; _“Everywhere you go death follows. You always want to save everyone. But what you don’t realise is that **you’re** the one we need saving **from**. Wells is dead because you couldn’t see Charlotte was a basket case. Finn is dead because you broke his heart and then slid a knife into it. Hell, I bet you got Lexa killed too. And then there’s dear old dad… your mom’s in here with me Clarke. She tells me you tried to convince him not to go public about the fact the Ark was dying; guess you should’ve tried harder! His blood is on your hands too. You can hide behind the selfless martyr act, but we see you for what you **really** are: **poison** to anyone who gets close.”_

When the world was ending and she took out her fear on Clarke; _"You asked me to be in charge of rationing, and I am doing it, but choosing who gets to live or die is **your** specialty."_

Taunting her while she unhooked Madi’s collar; _“Hey Clarke. I haven’t seen you in six years, and this is how you say hello?”_

Why hadn’t she ever thought to look at things from Clarke’s perspective? The girl who was constantly backed into a corner, forced to choose between the fire and the flood. The girl who stood up in defiance against people committing atrocities and saved countless others from peril. Sure, she’d made mistakes, she’d done bad things, but so had Bellamy, so had Murphy, so had Shaw.

Raven pushed herself to her feet, unable to sit still any longer, “I’m going back to the bridge, we still need to work on those figures from this morning. If anyone needs me… I… Come and get me if there’s any news.”

Everyone else just nodded sombrely, still listening to Clarke’s voice as it travelled through the small speaker, but Echo noticed how distressed she was immediately. 

“Hey, you okay?” she asked, sitting up. 

She tugged at the hem of her shirt, scrunching it between her fingers, and whispered, “No. _No_ , I’m not.”

“I’ll come with you,” Echo stood and wrapped an arm around her elbow. The two women walked slowly up to the bridge, and they were barely past the door before Raven collapsed into the taller woman’s shoulder, heaving into her shirt as she gripped her for support. Echo was murmuring comforting things in her ear, but she wasn’t listening to any of it. 

All she could hear were the sounds of Clarke’s smiles over the radio, a heavy contrast to the broken sobs as she tried to say goodbye, still somehow resonating through the bridge despite the video ending hours ago. The echoes of Clarke’s goodbye melded with Raven’s cries of grief, filling up the room like two contrasting melodies, twisting paradoxically – ghosts of tears of loneliness and resignation blending with tears of pleading, begging the universe to spare her.

 

  
  
  
  
  


 

_Has the world gone mad,_  
_Or is it me?_  
_All these small things they gather round me_  
_Gather round me_  
_Is it all so very bad?_  
_I can’t see_  
_All these small things they gather round me_  
_Gather round me…_  
**Small Things – Ben Howard**  
  
_Abby:_

Finally, _finally_ , Clarke’s condition had stabilized. 

Hours of forced calm and strained concentration and orders barked at Shaw, and intense focus on steadying shaky hands had paid off. 

Clarke was breathing evenly, the heart monitor beeping rhythmically, and while Shaw wheeled her into the room behind the surgery, Abby slumped down over the sink as she ripped off her gloves, watching black blood spiralling down the drain. 

All the heartbreak and fear she’d been supressing suddenly sprang forth, and she sobbed into her soaking wet hands as the tap ran relentlessly in front of her. She was hyperaware of every little thing, every tiny insignificant moment – the hitch in Clarke’s breath, the slight shiver in her limbs, the weak, irregular beating of her heart that had become gradually more controlled as Abby operated. 

There was ice cold water pouring down her front, and she was dimly aware of Shaw turning the tap off and touching her shoulder. 

“You did good. She’ll be okay.”

“No, she won’t. She was hurting, and I didn’t notice. My _daughter_.” She cried, “My daughter wanted to die, and I was so busy worrying about Marcus, and the new planet, and myself, that I didn’t see it. A thousand small problems, and I didn’t just _look_ at my _daughter_.”

“First we focus on getting her recovered, _then_ we focus on making her better,” Shaw suggested, with the faintly practiced ease of someone who’d had to say it before. 

“Am I ever going to stop hurting her?” She whimpered, and Shaw’s fingers tightened slightly, reassuringly. 

“You saved her life, Abby. I’d say that’s a good start,” he said softly.

She nodded and pulled herself together as best she could, straightening and moving towards the door. When she opened it, she was expecting an empty hallway, and instead found Bellamy to her right. His elbows were on his knees to support his head as it sagged forward against his hands, and Jordan, Diyoza, Murphy and Emori were sitting on the opposite wall, listening to a familiar voice coming from the small black rectangle in Murphy’s hand.

_“…and it actually drives! Honestly, I’d almost given up on it, but we managed to fix the solar panels, and we spent all day exploring the furthest reaches of the valley. It’s bigger than I thought it was, and god, it’s **so beautiful**. Three years and you’d think I’d be over it by now, but it still surprises me how picturesque it is, how colourful. When I was in solitary, I sketched landscapes like this, but it was always hazy, black and white ideas of what I thought it would be like. Then we reached the ground and I had barely any time to notice how beautiful it was before we had to fight for survival. But now… now I can just… **live** in it. Breathing feels easier when you don’t have to do it while running from everything. But… I wish you were here with me. Breathing always felt easiest when you were here. I… **Anyway** , I hope Raven is working on her plans to get back down, because you’ve only got two years before it’s safe to come back, and I expect you to be here the day it’s safe.”_

Murphy noticed Abby was standing there and turned it off, prompting Bellamy’s head to jerk up. He looked more of a mess than even she felt, and her mother’s instinct kicked it; she wanted to wrap him in blankets and tell him everything would be okay. 

Instead, all she managed was a sympathetic expression and a curt nod, “She’s stable, for now. She’ll be unconscious for a few days, and we’ll keep an eye on her, but she should be… she’ll be okay.”

“Can we… can we go in?” Murphy asked, because Bellamy seemed incapable of speech.

“Yeah, John, you can go in. I need rest, because I’m no use to her if something happens and I’m running on no sleep, but I’m right next door. If anything changes, and I mean _anything_ , you let me know, okay?”

They all stood up and brushed past her into the room, gripping her arms and patting her shoulders as they went, silent thank-yous for doing all she could. She only wished she’d done something sooner. 

 

  
  
  
  
  


 

_So I wonder this_  
_As life billows smoke inside my head_  
_This little game_  
_Where nothing is sure_  
_Why would you play by the rules?_  
  
_Who did?_  
_You did, you_  
**Dodo – Dave Matthews**  
  
_Murphy:_

He sat on Clarke’s right, and Bellamy took her left, the two of them in chairs they’d pulled over from the walls, just staring at her pale face as her chest rose and fell almost uncomfortably slowly. 

Emori and Diyoza yanked their own seats across the room and set up beside him, and Jordan dragged what looked like a couch in from one of the other rooms and put it at the foot of her bed, flopping down on it and staring solemnly at the machines. Bellamy sat by himself. Murphy wasn’t sure he’d let anyone sit beside him if they tried – his grief was filling up all the space around him, pushing outwards against the world as he gazed down at the unconscious body of the woman he loved. 

Because Bellamy was in love with Clarke. 

Murphy knew that – he had known for a long, _long_ time – but he’d never been more certain of it than in this moment, watching a broken man stare at the last bit of hope he had left.

Someone tapped him on the arm and he glanced over to see Diyoza holding a damp cloth out to him. He took it, thanking her with a nod, and she just shrugged and sat back in her chair, folding her arms over herself as she trained her eyes back on Clarke. Murphy tried the scrub the guilt from his own skin along with her blood, but that was one stain that wasn’t coming out. 

The worst part was, he knew she would probably forgive him before he managed to forgive himself. She would hate him for a while, resent him for longer, but she was Clarke – she would always forgive him in the end. 

_God, she was infuriating._

He almost laughed at how much he wanted to wake her up and shout at her, but he wanted to hug her more. He wanted to tell her she would be missed, that she wasn’t alone, that he loved her, that they all loved her, but instead he sat there in silence, feeling the cold sterility of the room enveloping them all. 

They sat that way for a long time. 

That was all they seemed to be doing in the last twenty-four hours – just sitting.

Waiting. 

For what, none of them seemed to be sure. 

But Murphy was tired of the quiet, tired of the waiting, tired of the worry. 

He just wanted his friend back. 

Murphy had never been very good at staying still.

Eventually, the silence became too much, and he couldn’t take it anymore. 

He leaned forward, reaching into his back pocket to pull out the tapes again, holding it up in a silent question. They all nodded, and he flicked the button, starting it back up from where they’d left off. Her voice stretched out from the speaker like tendrils of warmth, pushing the cold back just enough for Murphy to feel less restless.

_“Bellamy, don’t be mad, but I’m teaching Madi how to drive the rover. I can already see your disapproving stare, and your eye-rolling, but hear me out – she’s almost ten, and she should be able to have a bit of independence from me. Also, I’m gonna be honest, there isn’t a lot else to do around here. Don’t get me wrong, I love it, but sometimes peacetime is boring. Besides, it’s your fault – you should never have taught me how to drive that thing.”_

Murphy snorted, catching himself a second too late, and watched Bellamy cautiously, nervous that he would take his laughter the wrong way. For a second that stretched out far too long, Bellamy just continued to scowl, eyes locked on Clarke’s face like he could stare her back to life. Then, a miraculous thing happened. 

Bellamy smiled. 

He glanced over at the radio like Clarke could see him, like they were sharing an old inside joke, and his lips tweaked upwards, just slightly, but it was there. 

And the atmosphere changed. 

Everything relaxed, just a touch, like the universe was giving them space to breathe. 

Murphy placed the device down on the bed, next to Clarke’s hand and Emori snuggled into his side as they listened. Jordan offered Diyoza the extra space on the couch so that she could settle in more comfortably, and Bellamy pulled his chair as close to the bed as he could get it, leaning his head against the wall as he looked down at Clarke, gently entwining his fingers with hers.

Murphy sighed, rubbing his forehead as the panic he’d been trapped by for almost a full day slowly dissipated, and tiredness took over. 

Someone knocked on the door, and then Raven, Shaw and Echo traipsed wearily in. 

“Got space for a few more?” Shaw asked lightly. 

“Pull up a chair,” Murphy waved a hand at them, beckoning them in, and they didn’t waste any time following his instructions. Raven took the seat Diyoza had vacated, Echo drew a chair up beside Bellamy, and Shaw sat down on the arm of the couch as Clarke’s voice continued to trickle throughout the room, filling up the space between them all. 

 

 

  
  
  
  
  


 

_All these tapes in my head swirl around_  
_Keeping my vibe down_  
_All these thoughts in my head aren't my own_  
_Wreaking havoc_  
_I'm too exhausting to be loved_  
_A volatile chemical_  
_Best to quarantine and cut off_  
**Tapes – Alanis Morissette**  
  
_Emori:_

Emori was exhausted, but she still hadn’t fallen asleep. 

It had been 36 hours since Clarke had been shot, and no-one had left the room. Everyone just curled up with light blankets draped around their shoulders and fell asleep on the floor, or in Diyoza’s case, the couch. The only other person who was still awake was Bellamy, who seemed to be incapable of relaxing in any way. He was still sitting, unmoved, hunched over in his chair, his right hand tangled with Clarke’s as his eyes never wavered from her face except to check her vitals or glance at the tape recorder. 

As Emori listened to Clarke’s voice on the tapes, she ended up thinking about a time when she had nothing and no-one to rely on. 

She remembered when no-one had accepted her, when no-one would have laid down their life for hers, or sacrificed for her wellbeing. 

Then she met Murphy, and her whole life changed.

Because not only did she have a man in her life who loved her, but she gained a family; a group of people who took her in and made her feel like she was truly part of something good. 

She had Clarke to thank for that. 

Clarke had injected herself with nightblood to save _her_ , Clarke had taken off her radiation suit to save _her_ , Clarke had stayed on the ground to keep them _all_ alive. Then, even after everything that happened in the valley, she still held the door open long enough for them to get back with Murphy, despite Raven telling her to close it. 

As she listened to Clarke’s tapes, her loneliness became almost unbearably apparent – and Emori knew exactly how that felt. To feel all alone in the world, to feel like you’re talking into the void because nothing ever comes back. 

She remembered the worthlessness that came with it, the decisions she made in an instant because nothing mattered and consequences could be avoided later.

“Go to sleep, Emori,” Bellamy said gruffly, not even looking at her, “You should rest.”

She scoffed, “So should you.”

“Just… please?” He pleaded, “You look exhausted; you deserve it.”

“And you don’t?” She challenged. 

He did glance at her then, and she knew she would never forget the haunted look in his eyes when he said, “No, I don’t.”

“It’s not your fault,” she said.

“Of course it’s my fault! I should have noticed, I should have been there for her, I should have–”

“You couldn’t have known; none of us did.”

“But _I_ should have, Emori,” he ran a hand through his hair, “I… I _knew_ about the radio calls. I didn’t know she kept them, but Madi told me she called me every day for six years and I… I didn’t tell her I knew, because I was scared of what it meant.”

“And what’s that?”

“That she might…”

“Love you?” Emori finished for him.

His head snapped up and she shrugged. 

“She’s always loved you, Bellamy.”

He shook his head, “No, no that’s not…”

“I promise you, it is.” Emori sighed, “Clarke loves you. She’s loved you for a long time, since before I met her. She’s just better at hiding it than you. Don’t worry, she’s still oblivious to the fact that you feel the same way.”

He tensed, “How can you possibly know that?”

“Because if she knew you loved her back, she would _never_ have left you there with Octavia. The only reason she left was because she thought you betrayed her. If she knew you did it for her, she would have stayed.”

He shook his head in amazement, “When did you get so insightful?”

“Six years in a metal box with Bellamy Blake will do that to you,” she fired back, and he snorted and dropped his gaze back to Clarke’s still form. They fell into a comfortable silence again, and she felt herself drifting off. Emori glanced through half-closed eyes over at Murphy, who was curled up on his chair, head lolling back, lost to the world; more at peace than she’d seen in a long time. 

Yeah, she had a lot to thank Clarke Griffin for. 

 

  
  
  
  
  
  


 

_Look down,_  
_The ground below is crumbling._  
_Look up,_  
_The stars are all exploding._  
  
_It's the last, day on earth,_  
_In my dreams, in my dreams,_  
_It's the end, of the world,_  
_And you've come back, to me._  
_In my dreams._  
  
_In my head I repeat our conversations,_  
_Over and over 'til they feel like hallucinations,_  
_You know me, I love to lose my mind._  
_And every time anybody speaks your name,_  
_I still feel the same, I ache, I ache, I ache inside._  
**The Last Day on Earth – Kate Miller-Heidke**  
  
_Clarke’s Radio Calls:_

 

_“Bellamy…”_

Click.

* * *

  
  


_“It’s been 1,349 days since Praimfaya…”_

Click.

* * *

  
  


_“Hey Bellamy…”_

Click.

* * *

  
  


_“One thousand, five hundred days, motherfucker! I’m gonna be honest, I’m a tiny bit drunk… I found that moonshine recipe! It’s disgusting – so much worse than I remember – but it’s doing the job. Madi’s asleep-"_

_“No I’m not!”_

_“Madi, what are you doing up?! It’s past your bedtime!”_

_“You’re being really loud!”_

_“I am not!”_

_“Can I talk to Bellamy now?”_

The pout in Clarke’s voice was pretty apparent when she said, _“Fine.”_

 _“Hi Bellamy! Clarke says it’s less than a year until you arrive. I can’t wait to meet you. I also can’t wait for you to talk back, because it’s weird watching Clarke talk to herself, and also,”_ she lowered her voice to a whisper, _“I think she misses you a lot more than she pretends to. She’s started only calling you once she thinks I’m asleep, and I think it’s because she doesn’t want me to see her sad.”_

_“Madi, what are you telling Bellamy?”_

_“That you’re pretty,”_ she bluffed. 

_“He already knows I’m pretty,”_ Clarke said dizzily. 

_“Really? Has he ever told you?”_ Madi sounded excited, like she’d just been told a big secret.

_“I don’t need him to tell me: I’m pretty, I know it, that should be enough.”_

_“So he never told you?”_

Clarke hiccupped, _“No, but he used to call me Princess.”_

 _“Aha! So that’s where that comes from!? I knew it!”_ Madi yelled triumphantly. 

It seemed as though they’d argued about something like this before, judging by the excited squealing of the little girl, and Clarke groaned in defeat, _“Alright, that’s it, bedtime, say goodnight to Bellamy.”_

 _“Night Bellamy,”_ Madi was grinning, _“Princess says goodnight too.”_

 _“I’m going to regret telling you that, I know it,”_ Clarke grumbled irritably.

Click.

* * *

  
  


_“Hey Bellamy. I’m gonna be honest, last night was a terrible decision – the room is spinning and everything hurts. I’m never drinking like that again…”_

Click.

* * *

  
  


_“It’s been 1,564 days since Praimfaya…”_

Click.

* * *

  
  


_“Hey Bellamy…”_

Click.

* * *

  
  


_“It’s been 1,582 days since Praimfaya. You know what that means? It means you’ve got **six months** to get your ass in gear and get down here. I’m serious, even if Raven hasn’t worked it out yet, just give her one of your famous Bellamy Blake speeches and I’m sure she’ll get there.”_

Click.

* * *

  
  


_“Hey Bellamy… It’s been five years… It’s **actually** been five years and **three weeks** , and you’re still… you’re still not here. I know it was probably ridiculous to expect you down so soon, but I just thought… I don’t know. I don’t know what I think anymore.”_

Click.

* * *

  
  


_“It’s been two thousand and one days since Praimfaya…”_

Click.

* * *

  
  


_“Bellamy,”_ she sounded like she was crying, _“It’s been 2,103 days, and you’re still not here. I’m so… I can’t… Bellamy, please… **please** come home. I don’t know how much longer I can do this without you. I sent Madi down to the lake to fish, so that I could calm down, but the second she left, I just started listing all the reasons you might not be able to reach the ground, and… what if… what if you **never** come back, Bellamy? What if I’m left here, all alone, raising a child without anyone; without **you?** She’s growing up so fast, and I’m so scared, I’m so… what happens when she grows up and she doesn’t need me anymore? Then I won’t have _anyone_. Bellamy, please, just... come home.”_

Click.

* * *

  
  


_“It’s been 2,154 days since Praimfaya, and you’re still not back yet. Don’t be dead, Bellamy. I don’t know if I could cope with that.”_

Click.

* * *

  
  


_“It’s been 2,186 days since Praimfaya. If you’re alive, please come home.”_

Click.

* * *

  
  


_“Um, hi Bellamy,”_ Madi’s voice said uncertainly, _“Clarke, um… I’m not really sure what to do, because Clarke is sick, and she has a fever, and I think she’s having bad dreams, because she keeps yelling out your name, and Wells’ and Lexa’s, and I don’t know how to make her better. Whenever I wake her up, she just shakes and cries until she falls asleep again, and she’s the one who knows what to do when people are sick, not me. I don’t even know why I’m calling you, really, because you never answer, but talking to you always makes her feel better, so I thought maybe it would help me too. I’m worried about her…”_

Click.

* * *

  
  


_“Hi Bellamy,”_ Madi said softly, _“Clarke’s feeling better now, I think. She’s awake, and she’s drinking water again, which is good.”_

There were the sounds of movement, and the she said, _“Hey Clarke, do you want to talk to Bellamy?”_

Clarke said something muffled that sounded like, _‘Bellamy’s not here’_ , and Madi sighed, _“ **I know** , Clarke. I’m sorry. Come on, talk to Bellamy, it’ll make you feel better.”_

_“Will it now? Thank you Doctor Madi…”_

Madi just huffed good-naturedly and she could be heard trudging away through the underbrush.

 _“Hey Bellamy,”_ Clarke’s voice was rough, and she coughed away from the receiver before bringing it back up to her lips, _“Don’t worry too much, it’s just flu, I’m fine. I think I scared Madi though. Apparently, she called you while I was asleep, so at least my streak of calling you every day for six years is unbroken… **Wow** … almost **six years** … I can’t believe it’s been so long since I’ve seen your face. God, I… I miss you **so** much. All of you – tell the others I wish they were here too…”_

She sniffled, and then coughed again. 

_“Ignore me, I’m sick, and apparently that makes me sappy. We’re heading down to the berry fields again next week. I haven’t told Madi yet, but they’re ripe already, so we can go down soon. Provided she behaves, of course, which is why I haven’t told her. Anyway… if you can hear me… if you can hear me, you’ve already heard me say it a hundred times, I don’t know why I bother… I just… I’m tired of being alone, Bellamy. I’m not strong enough to battle myself without you here. When I was sick, it all came flooding back – all those horrible things I did to keep the people I loved safe, and it’s been years, but I still can’t run away from myself. You were the only person who ever… Anyway… come home.”_

Click.

* * *

  
  


“ _Bellamy. If you can hear me, if you’re alive, it’s been 2,199 days since Praimfaya. I don’t know why I still do this every day… maybe it’s my way of staying sane; not forgetting who I am. Who I **was**. It’s been safe for you to come down for over a year now. Why haven’t you? The bunker’s gone silent too. We tried digging them out for a while but… there was too much rubble. I haven’t made contact with them either. Anyway, I still have hope. Tell Raven to aim for the **one** spot of green and you’ll find me. The rest of the planet from what I’ve seen basically sucks, so… Never mind – **I see you.”**_

 

 

  
  
  
  
  
  


 

_This is the feeling_  
_The colour you can't describe_  
_And this is the shape it makes now_  
_It's very revealing_  
_You crash a plane into my life_  
_The deafening silent sound_  
  
_Don't ask too many questions_  
**Last Chance – Turin Brakes**  
  
_ Echo: _

Bellamy refused to leave Clarke’s side. 

It had been two days, and while everyone else had agreed to take shifts staying with her, filtering in and out every few hours, Bellamy didn’t budge.

Echo tried to get him to sleep in the next room over, like Abby had, but he just shook his head and stayed where he was. 

She didn’t think he was sleeping, and she knew he hadn’t eaten. The last time she’d seen him like this was after Praimfaya, when he blamed himself for Clarke’s death, and she knew it was happening again. She could see the guilt in the way his eyebrows creased and his lips parted whenever he stared at the unconscious woman for too long. He seemed to flicker between guilty, angry, distraught and pleading, his eyes saying more than words ever could. 

She was sitting on the bridge with Raven and Emori, and all three of them were just wallowing in the silence, unused to it because of their time spent in Clarke’s room listening to the radio calls. The radio calls that Clarke made to Bellamy _every day_ for _six years_. If she didn't already know that Clarke loved him, it was abundantly clear now. Unfortunately, that truth gave way to some unpleasant uncertainties that had been bubbling below the surface for a long time, and she couldn't help but wonder...

The question rose up her throat, slipping out before she could stop it, “He loves her, doesn’t he? Still?”

She wished she could take it back.

Because she knew the answer.

Raven whipped her head around to stare at her in shock, but it was Emori who spoke. Emori answered the question with a sympathetic tone and a small nod, “Yeah. Yeah, he still loves her.”

“Even after she _betrayed_ us?” She asked again, bitterness coating her words.

Raven raised an eyebrow, “Pot, meet kettle.”

Echo bristled, “That’s not the same; it was years ago.”

“He forgave you, Echo, and you were _enemies_ ,” Raven pointed out. She held her hand up before Echo could argue back, and continued, “He was always going to forgive Clarke, because no matter what, she has always been on his side, until he put the flame in Madi. He destroyed the radio connecting us to the Ark, and she forgave him, and that was back before they even _liked_ each other. He forgave her for closing the dropship door. He was with Pike when he massacred grounders, and Clarke _still_ forgave him. He forgave her for leaving. She forgave him, she forgave _all of us_ for leaving her stranded in Praimfaya, to die. He forgave her for holding a gun on him at the end of the world. She forgave him for so many things that the rest of us didn’t even _know_ he needed reassurance for. He was the _only_ person she would compromise herself for – when you and Roan held him hostage, she would have thrown the rest of us to the wind for him, and if you’d killed him, then you would have truly seen the _Wanheda_ people talked about, because she wouldn’t have stopped until all of you were dead. She was there for him, she _understood_ him, and she made him want to be a better person. The Bellamy you’re in love with wouldn’t even _exist_ without Clarke. They forgive each other, and they always will.”

“Because they love each other,” Echo said slowly, almost questioningly. 

“Yeah,” Raven closed her eyes, “I’m sorry.”

There was a long pause, while her friends observed her cautiously, but she just leaned back in her seat and sighed, “It’s okay. I think… I… I’ve always known that he would never love me as much as Clarke. Even when she was dead, it was always her – but I made my peace with it, because she was gone, and I was here. I think I knew our time was running out from the second he found out she was still alive.”

She still wished she’d never asked the question, because as the weight of not knowing was lifted from her shoulders, a new weight took its place – one of sadness for a relationship coming to an end. 

“Are you okay?” Emori asked, walking over to pull her into a hug. 

Echo managed a watery smile, and Raven hauled herself to her feet and moved over as well, gripping her shoulders. She wasn’t as heartbroken as she expected to be, but perhaps that would come later. She felt more at ease here, in the arms of her two closest friends, her _family_. Their family that felt the absence of Monty and Harper, the two brightest lights, more keenly now than ever, weighing on them as they hugged each other through the grief. Their family that would always have each other’s backs. That was the important thing, really; even if she and Bellamy weren’t together anymore, he would still look out for her, because he was a good man. 

Bellamy might not love her as much as he loves Clarke, but he would always be her _family_ , no matter what.

 

 

  
  
  
  
  
  


 

_When you're weary, feeling small_  
_When tears are in your eyes, I'll dry them all_  
_I'm on your side, oh, when times get rough_  
_And friends just can't be found_  
_Like a bridge over troubled water_  
_I will lay me down_  
**Bridge Over Troubled Water – Simon and Garfunkel**  
  
_Diyoza:_

She found Murphy in front of the airlocks. 

He was pacing up and down frantically, clearly reliving that moment over and over and over again as he walked – the gun’s weight in his hands, the sickening bang that ricocheted around his brain, the look of hurt in her eyes as she collapsed. Diyoza knew what that was like – there were so many horrifying instances seared into her memory that she knew she would never stop recalling until the day she died. 

He was spiralling, but trying to bring himself back to reality, and she could tell just with a glance that he wasn’t succeeding. 

He knew, rationally, that he’d done the right thing. 

He knew that she was going to be okay. 

But Diyoza knew that sometimes that made it worse – when you do the wrong thing for the right reasons, it disrupts the equilibrium in your psyche, making you question everything, making you question _yourself:_ because how right could you possibly be if you did something so despicable?

She could see it: from the outside, he was sporting an angry kind of calm, but internally the storms of guilt raged – an inverse hurricane, tearing him apart from within. 

He didn’t even realise that he wasn’t alone until she grabbed his shoulders roughly, halting him in his tracks.

“Murphy! Stop,” she commanded, “Come on, you’ve gotta… you’ve _gotta_ stop. It’s not helping anything, going over it like that. You can’t change what happened, no matter how hard you think about it.”

“She’s my friend,” he said, defeat in his tone and sorrow in his eyes.

“And because of you, she’s going to live.” Diyoza said earnestly, “I promise you, Murphy, you did everything you could. You saved her life. _She’s going to live_ , because you saw her when everyone else didn’t. If it weren’t for you, she would have slipped out the airlock before any of us knew any different. You did the right thing, and because of you, _she is going to **live**_.”

“She’s going to hate me,” he muttered. 

“Maybe,” Diyoza let her hands drop from his arms and folded them in front of her chest, “But from what I’ve seen of you so far, you’re pretty used to that.”

He snorted, and relief washed over her – he was calming down enough to recognise a joke when she said it, which meant she could probably convince him to get some rest. He wasn’t sleeping much, and he hadn’t eaten at all, since he shot Clarke. The only person beating himself up more than Murphy was Bellamy, and if she could get Murphy to eat something, she would consider her efforts a success, at least for the moment. Then they could both work on Bellamy later. 

She gestured at the door, “Come on, I’m hungry.”

“How can you be hungry when you’ve clearly just eaten a small moon?” He quipped, and she pretended to be offended, placing a hand over her baby bump. 

“Because I am eating for two, and _how dare you_ ,” she complained, but there was no real sting in it, and as Murphy fell into step beside her, he started asking questions about the world before it ended, and she was all too happy to answer them. She responded with some questions of her own, and by the time they reached the cafeteria and sat down, they were in the throes of an intense comparison between the built-up cities of the old Earth and the forest communities that existed post-Praimfaya. 

A few minutes into their food, Jordan came and sat with them, fascinated by both, and they regaled him with stories, competing over who was more entertaining. Jordan beamed back at them, and Diyoza unconsciously brushed at her belly, wondering if her child would look at her with the unrestrained hope and joy that Jordan looked at the world, or if it would be marred with the shadows of what had been done to keep her safe. 

 

 

  
  
  
  
  
  


 

_She said, “I really don't mind if you have to leave my side;_  
_Cause I've been made to walk alone all the way through my life”_  
_And I never really thought about it, no I never really thought about it_  
_It's because of you that I believe in me for first time_  
_I know, love's always been sink or swim so I won't_  
_Say it's over just as it begins,_  
_So tell me it's real, just tell me it's real_  
  
_I left you unprotected in the fortress of your mind_  
_Felt the rhythm of my heart beating out the words I couldn't find_  
_And no I never really thought about it, no I never really thought about it_  
_Stopped me dead in my tracks, as it hit me for the first time_  
  
_Yes I'm broke, thinking what if we never meet again?_  
_And I froze - What if heaven doesn't let me in?_  
**Tell Me It’s Real - Seafret**  
  
_Bellamy:_

Three and a half days. 

Three and a half days of watching Clarke just lie there, completely unresponsive. 

Three days of abject torture, as his mind played out every moment they’d shared, every instance of heartache and betrayal between them, every lost look and missed opportunity. 

He was vaguely aware of everyone coming and going, talking to him, talking to Clarke, trying to give him food, but mostly he was trapped in the fear radiating out from his heart. 

He failed her: he didn’t notice her retreating into her own head. 

He let her down: he wasn’t there when she needed him. 

He almost lost her: he didn’t see how much pain she was in.

He _missed_ her. 

He missed her even though she had been right there, and instead of reaching out, he just longed for her in the quiet corners of his mind, passively watching her remove herself from his life until she tried to do it permanently. 

It hit him then, that if she woke up, she might hate him. 

The blood pounded in his ears and the room started spinning again, and he wondered if he would ever manage to find true north where Clarke Griffin was concerned. He tried to stop the panic rising in his chest, pushing out at his ribs even as it squeezed at his heart, making it stutter in time with his shaky breaths. 

It was somewhere in the early hours of the morning, and everyone else had gone to bed, but he couldn’t remember the last time he slept for more than five minutes at a time. He was exhausted, but his body just wouldn’t let him sleep.

She was getting better, Abby had assured him of that, but she had also suggested that it would only be a couple of days before she woke up, and as the fourth day slowly crept in, he felt a nagging feeling in his stomach that something wasn’t right. 

She was still just… lying there. 

She was so close, but so unbearably far from him, separated by a wall of their own creation, built up between them through heartbreak and yearning. 

He had loved her and lost her before, and it had broken him. He had rebuilt himself, convinced himself that he would be better, to honour her memory, and then he _found her again_. He remembered what it felt like to love Clarke Griffin – had fallen into it as easy as breathing – and he never wanted to lose her again. He couldn’t. 

Two weeks ago they had stood together on the bridge, arms wrapped around each other as they said goodbye to two more people; another two names to add to the list of all those they’d lost. But at least Monty and Harper had _lived_ before they died. They had loved each other, grown old together, and it occurred to Bellamy that when he thought of his future, he couldn’t imagine one without Clarke in it. She was as much a part of him as he was of her, and it hurt to think that she didn’t know that. It set off another dull ache in his chest, the idea that Clarke would have died thinking he didn’t care. 

He would never let her think that again. 

The tape had ended a few hours ago, and he hadn’t bothered to restart it, because he was alone, but the silence had become deafening.

“That’s an oxymoron, too,” he suddenly said out loud, and it was the first time he had really spoken in days. He sat up a little straighter and stroked the hair back from Clarke’s face, remembering the time he’d done that before, when they were watching Emori and Echo help fix the rocket. He recalled it so clearly – how hopeful he’d been, and how insistent she was that he should continue if she died. He leaned a little closer, pressing his lips to her forehead, the way he wished he’d done that day, all those years ago, before the explosion behind them forced their conversation to a close. He tried not to think about how many of his hopes from back then had hinged on Clarke making it up to the Ring with them – he’d done that enough in the first few years after Praimfaya – it wasn’t helpful, it just made the pain sharper. 

He leaned back, staring down at their hands, still clasped together because he refused to let go. A tiny, irrational part of him was convinced that if he let her go, he would lose her. 

_“Deafening silence_ , I mean,” Bellamy murmured, his voice scratchy from underuse, “It’s an oxymoron. Do you remember that day? That conversation? I do. _I never stop thinking about it_. All of the things I could have said- _should_ have said. I never stop thinking about you, Clarke. I know things have been different since we came back to Earth, and I’m sorry, I’m _so_ … I’m so sorry. I think I just got used to the Clarke I heard in my head, the rational woman who made me a better man, and when I came down the ground, it was almost impossible for me to believe you were real. Every second I was with you felt like I was being punished, because you were right there, but I didn’t know you anymore, I had left you behind and you had gone on without me. I suppose you felt the same way… but… I know it was worse for you, because you didn’t have our friends, our family, all you had was Madi.”

He pinched the bridge of his nose and tried to stop the tears from falling. 

He had lost track of how much he’d cried in the last two weeks, and he didn’t want to start counting again now. He didn’t want to cry for Clarke, _not now_ , not after four days. Crying felt like giving up.

So he took a deep breath and continued, “I’m sorry I left you there. I’m sorry I put the flame in Madi. I’m sorry I made you think that I didn’t care, Clarke, because I do, I…” His voice hitched and the lump in his throat grew larger, but he persevered, “I care about you so much. I always have: _always_. Please don’t ever think that I wouldn’t care if you died, because if you died again, I would _never_ recover. Not after everything else we’ve lost, not after Monty, not after Harper. I can’t… _I can’t lose you too.”_

They were the same words she had said to him after Finn died, when he offered to go to Mount Weather. She had told him it was too risky, and when she said those words, he had felt an entirely unwelcome surge of warmth; because it meant she cared. He had been wondering since she sprinted into his arms at Camp Jaha whether it was just relief, whether she would have leapt at anyone, or whether it was _him_ that she was running to, _him_ that she wanted to cling to and never let go. When she’d said those words, he realised that she really did care about him as much as he did her, and it was in that moment, as she looked over at him, pleading with him not to go to Mount Weather, the anguish from killing her first love still in her eyes, that he first realised the scope of his feelings for Clarke. He wasn’t in love with her yet, not quite, but until that moment, the only person he had ever cared for was Octavia, and the unfamiliar tug of protectiveness and affection that Clarke started to provoke in him broke his heart. Because barely enough time passed for him to grapple with those feelings, before she had returned and told him that his life was worth the risk. 

_Love is weakness._

He returned to the present, the memory fading slowly as he refocussed on Clarke’s face. 

“It _isn’t_ weakness, Clarke. It’s never been weakness. You loved Finn enough to kill him to spare his suffering. You forgave your mother, Murphy, me... You loved your friends enough to break them out of Mount Weather. Even before you cared about me you sat with me while I cried and promised me I wasn’t a monster. You loved Lexa enough to forgive her for betraying us, and as a result, she realised that she made a mistake – her love for you made her want to be _better_. It makes _all of us_ want to be better, Clarke. Please come back to us… come back to me. _I need you.”_

 

 

  
  
  
  
  
  


 

_Thought I found a way_  
_Thought I found a way, yeah_  
_But you never go away_  
_So I guess I gotta stay now_  
  
_Oh, I hope someday I'll make it out of here_  
_Even if it takes all night or a hundred years_  
_Need a place to hide, but I can't find one near_  
_Wanna feel alive, outside I can fight my fear_  
  
_Isn't it lovely, all alone?_  
_Heart made of glass, my mind of stone_  
_Tear me to pieces, skin and bone_  
_Hello, welcome home_  
**Lovely -Billie Eilish**  
  
_Clarke:_

Clarke woke up slowly, and in pieces. 

The first piece was pain. 

She felt it before she felt the first drag of oxygen into her lungs – a dull ache somewhere in her middle, bringing her further and further into the realms of consciousness. 

The second piece was her mind, laden with despair and sorrow, curling around her in the dark, sharpening the throbbing in her chest, even as it reminded her that her pain was supposed to be over. 

The third piece was shame. 

She was horrified that her family had seen her attempt that – she had never wanted to survive long enough to see the hurt in their eyes or feel their disappointment in her for being so weak. She so desperately wanted it all to be over, and now that it wasn’t, she didn’t know how to cope with it all. 

She became conscious of her body then, the way her limbs felt somehow removed from her – her mind sinking slowly like a stone into the inky blackness behind her eyes, while her body stayed motionless despite her attempts to move it. 

She felt trapped in her own head, and she wanted to scream, but her throat wouldn’t let her. 

Then came the sounds.

The beeping, the hum of machinery, the tapping of something against metal… but mostly it was the voices.

She could hear them – the people sitting by her bed, talking to each other, talking to her. She could hear her own voice...

She had no concept of time, or if she was even really awake, but she could hear them, fragments of sentences turning into murmured conversations that wormed their way into her brain and refused to let her ignore them. Maybe this was some version of hell; locked away in her own mind while the people she loved looked on in disillusionment.

It was torture. 

She slipped in and out of consciousness, catching threads of conversation briefly, but they slipped through her fingers like treacle, disappearing into the recesses of her brain. 

She didn’t know how long she lay there, unable to move or speak or tell them that she could hear them, and it felt like walking through a symphony – words and phrases drifting through her, melodies of melancholy, wrapping around the part of her that was waking up, the part of her that remembered.

Then, like ice flooding her veins, she heard the voice that hurt the most; the song that pierced her heart more painfully than any other…

…She heard _Bellamy._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about that. And it only gets worse before it gets better - the angst will all come to a head in the final chapter.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading, and giving kudos, and I love reading your comments, they've really inspired me to write a lot more of this story than I was initially going to, so thank you so much. 
> 
> In Part 3: Clarke wakes up and deals with the fallout of what happened.


	3. We Pull Apart The Dark (Compete Against The Stars)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clarke wakes up, and the fallout from her actions continues to reverbrate through the ship.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, firstly, I'm so so so sorry it took me this long to get up, but honestly, my personal life got really hectic for a week there, and I didn't write anything at all. 
> 
> To placate you, I have written an incredibly long and very detailed final chapter, where every single character gets at least one POV. However, I also understand that some of you are only here for the Bellarke angst, and that's cool, each POV is labelled, so if you don't want to read through all of it, I understand - it's A LOT™. The whole last third is essentially just alternating between Clarke and Bellamy's POV, so I hope you're prepared for some serious angst. 
> 
> Also, my sort of mental starting point for Clarke's breakdown at the beginning of the chapter is [this scene from Supergirl](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2_K7U7Bpxhs) if you wanted a reference point for that kind of thing. And her breakdown in the latter half of the chapter is a lot more like her post-Finn-Lady-Macbeth-Panic-Attack. Just to clarify the difference between the two, so that there is a distinction between the emotional weight of both scenes. 
> 
> Also, the three major metaphors I've been using are stars, fire, and music, and this chapter attempts to interweave them, so if that doesn't make sense, please don't tell me, because I worked really hard on it. ;)
> 
> Anyway, I know I'm rambling, but thank you so much for reading this story. I absolutely was not expecting the reaction that this fic got, and it completely blew me away. I really hope this last chapter lives up to your expectations.

_Through the ruins, trying to save it_  
_‘For I fall out; show me somehow I can make it_  
_All that we gave, was it wasted?_  
_Falling down broke, only one hope:_  
_That you make it._  
  
_Give me something_  
_To hold onto_  
_I’ve got nothing_  
_Since I lost you_  
**Give Me Something - Seafret**  
  
_Bellamy:_  
She was still just lying there, motionless, and it was really starting to scare him.

Every now and then, the monitors would beep or flash, and a flicker of hope would rise and die in his chest, lost almost as quickly as it arrived. 

That didn’t stop him talking to her, though. Once he started, he wasn’t sure he could go back to sitting in that loud, heavy silence, so he talked through it, keeping it at bay. 

He told her everything; every random thought that popped into his head, every Greek myth his brain had retained over the years, every story from the Ring, every moment he’d seen something that reminded him of her and he’d wished she was there with him. He told her about waking up every day and remembering she was gone, and how painful it was – like having to live that moment again and again and again. He told her about how long he’d mourned her, and how choosing to move on was the hardest thing he’d ever done. He told her about how he and Echo first became a couple, and how for the first few months, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was betraying Clarke’s memory somehow, by moving on when he hadn’t even had a chance to tell Clarke how he felt. 

In fact, he told her almost everything except the actual words:

_I love you._

_I’ve loved you for so long, I don’t remember what it feels like not to._

_I love you more than anything._

_I love you so much I can’t think straight sometimes._

_It’s always been you._

_I’m in love with you._

There were so many ways he could say it, but he managed to avoid every one of them, skirting around the edges with _‘I care about you’_ and _‘I need you’_ and _‘please don’t leave me again’_. He sat by her side, her small hand enveloped in his larger one, stroking his thumb absentmindedly over her knuckles as he recounted memories or legends; spinning Greek tales and promising her the world if only she would come home, to him.

He talked to her like it was the only thing keeping her there – like the stories tumbling from his lips were the tether keeping her soul from fading away – as if he could tie it to his own soul with the words and keep her alive, keep her safe. 

He talked like he would never stop. 

He talked until Abby entered the room to check on Clarke, and he stumbled over the end of his sentence, trailing off and focussing all of his energy on their joined hands. 

He wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to let go of Clarke’s hand. He didn’t think he was strong enough.

 

 

  
  
  
  


 

 _We live and we die_  
  
_Like fireworks_  
_We pull apart the dark_  
_Compete against the stars_  
_With all of our hearts_  
_Till our temporary brilliance turns to ash_  
_We pull apart the darkness while we can_  
**In The Embers – Sleeping At Last**  
  
_Clarke:_  
She tried not to listen, but she could hear him so clearly, begging her to come back to him, pleading with her to be okay, promising he would never let her feel alone again. 

It should have made her feel better.

Instead, it made her feel more ashamed, more closed off, more isolated, and she just wanted to sink back into the inky blackness and disappear, but it wouldn’t let her. So she lay there, motionless, just listening to Bellamy talking to her, occasionally feeling his fingers in her hair, or the squeeze of his palm against hers. That was the problem – his hand in hers was grounding her to reality, keeping her exactly where she was, and she couldn’t shake him off, not when she was trapped inside a body that wouldn’t respond. No matter what, he just refused to let her go. 

After a few hours, she heard new voices come into the room and Bellamy fell silent.

“She’s waking up,” that was her mother, “Her vitals indicate she’ll be conscious soon, I’d say sometime in the next hour.”

“I thought I lost you,” Bellamy breathed raggedly, almost in Clarke’s ear, and she realised that he was pressing his face into the mattress beside her head, and that he’d whispered the words. No-one was supposed to hear, but she did. She heard how relieved he sounded, and how pained the words were, and it chipped away at her heart just a little more. 

“Bellamy, you should get some rest,” Abby said, “It’s been five days, you need to sleep, and eat something.”

“And take a shower, you stink.” Murphy’s voice suddenly broke through, and Clarke wanted to yell out in relief. Finally, a voice she felt comfortable hearing. 

Until the guilt set in. 

He’d shot her, and that was her fault. She wanted to hate him for it, despise him for pulling the trigger, but instead, she folded the anger in on herself. The self-hatred began to seep through again, wrapping around her; that old familiar coat shrugging itself around her shoulders and settling in as if it had never left. Perhaps it hadn’t. 

“Gee, thanks Murphy,” Bellamy said, but made no move to leave.

Abby kissed Clarke on the forehead and her footsteps disappeared from the room. Clarke thought it was just Murphy and Bellamy left until Diyoza spoke up. 

“Bellamy… go get some rest.”

“I’m staying right here.”

Murphy tried next, “You want Clarke to see you like this? You look awful. You need rest.”

“I’m not leaving, Murphy.”

There was a beat of silence, and Clarke could imagine that Murphy and Diyoza were sharing a look, before Diyoza sighed and said, “Look, Bellamy, we– we’ve talked about it, and we don’t think you should be here when she wakes up.”

His hand in hers tightened and she tried not to picture the look of hurt she knew was on his face. 

“What?”

“She… she’s just been through a trauma, and it’s probably best if she is exposed to the least possible amount of painful stimulus when she wakes up, at least initially.” Well, at least she was trying to be gentle about it. 

“And I’m–”

“The painful stimulus, yeah,” Murphy cut him off, clearly frustrated with the kinder tactic, “Clarke addressed her suicide letter to you, Bellamy. She talked to you on a radio every day for six years, and then her final goodbye was to you. Does it not occur to you that maybe you’re a big part of the reason she felt so alone? That maybe you’re not the person she wants to wake up to? That maybe she’ll think you’re here out of obligation, or worse, guilt?”

“But I’m not–”

“You’re telling me that the fact that you haven’t moved from this position in five days has nothing to do with your guilt?” Murphy snapped, and if Clarke could move, she would have flinched at the harshness of the statement. 

“Of course I feel guilty, Murphy! But that’s not the only reason I–” he cut himself off that time, and she knew he had redirected his attention back to her, because his free hand was stroking her hair from her forehead again, so carefully that it made her heart stutter. Bellamy sighed, and he sounded close to tears when he said, “Murphy, you _know_ why I’m here.”

“Yeah.” Murphy sounded solemn.

Diyoza moved closer, “We all do. But Clarke doesn’t, and if you ever want her to believe it, you need to give her some space first. You need to let her come to terms with what she did, and why, and _then_ you can tell her how you feel. She needs the time to heal.”

“So I’m just supposed to act like everything’s normal, while Clarke lies here, because she almost died after I did nothing?!” He snapped, and Clarke knew him well enough to know that he wasn’t angry – he felt guilty and self-loathing and worried and heartbroken, and he was funnelling that into the only thing he had access to in his tired state – anger. 

“Of course not,” Diyoza said, “But you should sleep, and eat something, and shower, because we all know that you haven’t been taking care of yourself.”

“And if Clarke wakes up only to find out that you’ve died of malnutrition, she’s going to be pissed,” Murphy said, and she could hear his grin when he added, “And she’s gonna take it out on me, and I don’t want to deal with that.”

Bellamy huffed a breath which might have been a laugh, and she felt him stand up, his hand shifting in hers, but still holding on, still refusing to relinquish his grasp. 

“Come on Bellamy, I’ll walk you to your room,” Diyoza offered. 

“You’re going to force me to eat something, aren’t you?” he grumbled. 

“Just let it happen,” Murphy said, “She’ll never stop bugging you otherwise. Hasn’t even given birth yet and she’s almost as motherly as you, Blake.”

“Fuck off Murphy,” Bellamy growled, but there was no heat in it, and it seemed like he was wrestling with himself, clenching and unclenching his fingers gently around her hand, as if readying himself to let go, but unable to go through with it. After a few minutes, he bent down and pressed a kiss to Clarke’s forehead, his thumb stroking the back of her knuckles when he squeezed her hand one last time, before he released her and stepped away. 

Then they were gone, and it was only Murphy sitting by her side, humming absently to himself. 

She thought that when Bellamy let go, she would finally feel more at ease, but it had the opposite effect – her palm felt empty without him in it, and she didn’t know what to do about it. She suddenly felt far too hot, like he was the only thing keeping the fires of shame away, and it all came crashing down on her at once, imploding in a burning cacophony of pain. 

She didn’t notice she was crying until Murphy said, “Clarke?”

And then the floodgates opened and the tears were pouring relentlessly past her lashes, carving paths of water down her cheeks, cooling against the heat emanating from her skin, pooling under her chin and across her neck and slowly warming to her body temperature, only making her feel more trapped by the inferno within. The fire behind her eyes burned through the darkness and suddenly she was completely awake, heaving sobs up towards the ceiling, her cries scorching the air around them. 

She felt her body come back to her, slowly and then all at once, and she immediately covered her eyes with her forearm, sobbing brokenly into it as her other hand reached blindly out for Murphy, who gripped it with a fierceness she wasn’t expecting. He held her arm, and shoulder, and she was so glad it was him, because he didn’t say anything, he didn’t try and make it better, he just sat there in silence while she threw her anguish into the ether.

She cried harder than she had done in years; her whole body shook with the force of it. It was too much – the panic and pain and shame and heartbreak and loss and worry and failure was all blazing around her, igniting every molecule in her body.

She sobbed for what felt like hours.

Maybe it was. 

She sobbed until her tears ran out.

Moment by moment as they trickled down into the pillow beneath her. 

She sobbed until every last bit of energy she possessed had evaporated into nothing.

And when the flames were all but embers and she was lying there, empty and adrift in the darkness it left behind, Murphy finally spoke. 

“I’m sorry,” he muttered, “I’m so, so sorry Clarke.”

She shook her head, her arm still over her face and her eyes still clamped shut out of fear that if she opened them everything would change, “You did what you had to do, Murphy.”

He laughed, a harsh, bitter noise that cut through the air, “I shot you, Clarke.”

“It’s okay, Murphy.”

There was a pause.

“Stop– it’s not… I… Clarke, don’t do that.”

“What?” She caught the angry edge to his voice, but she couldn’t seem to will her eyes open.

“Don’t forgive me,” he whispered, pain tinging his words, “I shot you, Clarke, you shouldn’t forgive me for that. I _shot_ you.”

“If you didn’t, I was going to.”

He laughed again, but it got caught in his throat and suddenly he was the one crying, and she squeezed his hand. 

“It’s okay, Murphy, we’re okay,” she said reassuringly.

“You’re not,” he snapped, “You’re not okay, and everyone should… we should have been there for you, I should have done something sooner, you can’t– please don’t ever assume that we’ll be fine if you’re not here anymore, Clarke. You’ve been unconscious for five days, and it’s been _hell_. Bellamy didn’t move from your side, Raven’s been angry and withdrawn, your mom did that thing where she throws herself into the science and gets really clinical because she can’t deal with the emotional part, and I’ve… I was so scared. What if I aimed wrong and you died anyway?”

She opened her eyes, and it took her a moment to adjust to the light pouring in, but once she had, she turned her head to see him, and he was looking right back at her, eyebrows knitted together as he watched her, almost childlike. Like he was waiting to get yelled at for doing something wrong. She realised that the last time he had shot someone like that, it had ended up with Raven in a brace, and she knew he’d never relinquished the guilt from that, either. 

She moved her arm completely off her face and shook her head carefully, “You did the right thing, Murphy.”

“You don’t hate me?”

“I… I want to. I wish I did,” she admitted, “But it’s my fault – I put you in that position, and it’s my fault that you reacted the way you did. I didn’t give you another choice.”

“It’s not your fault.” He said decisively, like it wasn’t up for discussion. 

“Of course it is, Murphy,” she breathed, and she felt the tears creeping into the corners of her eyes again, “No-one else held a gun to my head. I did that. I just… I just wanted it to be over. I wanted to stop feeling like the only one who didn’t belong anymore. I wanted to stop wishing that I’d died in Praimfaya, or that Octavia killed me when she had the chance. I wanted to stop hurting, Murphy, because it hurts _so much.”_

And then the dam burst and she was crying again, harder than before, and she yanked her hand out of his so that she could cover her face with both of her own, as if that would be enough of a barrier to keep the pain out. 

It wasn’t, and the aching never ceased, emanating out from her chest. It fuelled the tears; pouring gasoline on a burning pyre, and the tears cascaded even as a galaxy of stars exploded behind her eyes, leaving only ash and darkness in their wake. 

 

 

 

  
  
  


_I know who you are,_  
_Open the door and climb in._  
_Hold me real close, then do it again,_  
_I ache for the touch of my dead end friends_  
_And oh, I gotta know_  
_Is it dead_  
_At the end of the road?_  
_I can tell_  
_By that look in your eyes,_  
_We're the same,_  
_My dead end friends and I_  
**Dead End Friends – Them Crooked Vultures**  
  
_Murphy:_

Clarke eventually cried herself back to sleep, and Murphy stayed with her, partially to be there in case she woke up, but mostly to keep everyone else out. She didn’t exactly order him not to let anyone in, but between shaky breaths she had stuttered the phrase, _‘I don’t want them to see me like this’_ and that was enough for him. He wanted to make everything as easy as possible for her, and if her family was going to make things harder, he wasn’t going to allow them anywhere near her. He locked the door to her room and sat steadfastly in his chair, lolling his head back and thinking about when they first got to the ground and things were simpler. 

He didn’t tell anyone else that she was awake, so there was no reason for them to come down there anyway. So when someone knocked, he jumped half out of his skin; not expecting anyone, at least not since they kicked Bellamy out. He shuffled to the door and opened it a crack. 

He was genuinely gobsmacked to see that it was Echo on the other side, until she said, “Is Bellamy still here?”

He surveyed her for a second, trying to tell himself that the sudden swell of anger he felt was irrational, but he still couldn’t help the biting remark that slipped out, “Clarke’s feeling better, thanks for asking.”

Echo frowned, “I assumed you would have told someone if her condition had improved or worsened, so I didn’t feel it important to ask.”

 _“Yeah, that’s the problem,”_ Murphy muttered under his breath, throwing his eyes to the ceiling, before he said more loudly, “Bellamy left this morning – Diyoza took him down to his room to have a shower and get some sleep. If he’s not there, she’s probably dragged him into the kitchen to eat something.”

“Oh.” Was all she said, before she turned tail and disappeared down the corridor. 

Murphy sighed as he closed the door and returned to his seat. He really did see Echo as family, but as with his original family, there was a level of animosity bubbling beneath the surface from years past and it was only being brought back to the surface since he shot Clarke. 

Perhaps it was all just a little too close to home – Clarke being so alone reminded him of when he felt the same – his own flesh and blood had treated him like a stain, something to be removed and forgotten, and it had affected him deeply. Where Clarke has become more withdrawn and blamed everything on herself, he had been angry and bitter, throwing blame at everything _but_ himself. He had hated himself then, too, but it was buried beneath layers of animosity and resentment at the world for what it did to him. It felt selfish of him, yet knowing that Clarke had been feeling the same way had actually helped a little – all of a sudden, he wasn’t completely alone. He had someone else by his side who hated herself as much as he did, but less destructively. However, it had quickly become clear that she hated herself in a way that _was harmful_ but invisible to the eye; he couldn’t see just how alone and broken down she was beneath the stoic exterior… but at least he’d tried. 

Unlike the rest of her so-called family. 

He realised he was getting angry again and he took a few short breaths in through his nose in a perfunctory effort to calm down.

The door swung open and he realised he forgot to lock it again after Echo left. Abby strode through and made a beeline for the equipment, checking on the readings from the last few hours. After a minute, she turned to look at Murphy, a question in her eyes. 

“Yeah,” he confirmed, “But she wanted to be left alone.”

Abby noticeably swallowed, and he knew that the revelation that her daughter didn’t want to see her probably hurt, so he scanned his brain for something comforting to say. Unfortunately, he seemed to have used up all his compassion on Clarke, and he had absolutely none left in his reserves for anybody else. 

“Was she…” Abby couldn’t seem to finish the question; she trailed off, staring forlornly at her child.

“She just cried,” he said softly, and Abby’s eyes closed briefly, sorrow and shame flitting across her features. He shook his head at nothing in particular, “She didn’t want anyone to see her cry.”

Abby swallowed again, this time probably to push down the lump in her throat, and she brushed the hair from Clarke’s forehead gently, “She shouldn’t have been alone.”

“No,” Murphy agreed solemnly, “She shouldn’t.”

“Let me know if she wants to see me?” Abby pleaded. 

“Sure,” he responded, and she pulled him into a one-armed hug, her other hand still resting against Clarke’s face. 

“You’re a good man, John Murphy,” she said, and he just shrugged and hugged her back a little awkwardly. When she stepped away, she made it all the way to the door before she turned to say, “I always knew you were.”

“I know,” he said, and he meant it.

* * *

Raven and Emori stopped by later.

“Hey, are you okay?” Emori asked, wrapping her arms around his waist, and he buried his face in her shoulder. 

“Not even close,” he said, and Raven came at them both from the side, wrapping the two of them up in her arms and holding on for dear life. The three women he loved most in the world were surrounding him, and all he felt was worry and regret. 

“Abby said she woke up but she didn’t want to see anyone,” Emori asked, “Is she okay?”

“No,” he muttered, “No, she’s so far from okay, Emori… she’s so alone and lost and she’s suffering and I don’t know how to fix it.”

“You’re here,” she replied, “For now, that has to be enough.”

“It doesn’t feel like enough,” he burrowed into the crook of her neck and she stroked his back consolingly.

“It’s more than any of the rest of us did,” Raven said darkly, “At least you noticed. If you hadn’t… if you… we would have lost her. And she would have died thinking that we didn’t care.”

He couldn’t say anything to that, so he just embraced the two women tighter, trying to communicate without words how much he loved them. 

“Look, I’m gonna go, because I don’t want to upset her any more than…” Raven cleared her throat, “Anyway, if she wakes up again, let me know. I won’t come back down if she doesn’t want me to, but if she needs someone, can you tell her that I’m here if she needs me?”

He nodded and Raven ducked out, leaving him and his girlfriend still holding each other by the door. 

“Do you think Clarke’ll mind if I stay with you for a bit?” Emori asked anxiously. She framed it as though she was worried about Clarke, but he knew her well enough to know that she was equally as concerned for him, and trying to hide it. 

He pondered it, “Honestly? I think she’ll really appreciate it if you’re here when she wakes up. She’s probably sick of me by now.”

“Aren’t we all?” Emori teased, and he kissed her on the cheek as he extricated himself from her grip. She caught his arm as he went to move back to his seat and when he glanced back at her, she said sombrely, “I love you, John.”

Her eyes were wide and full of unease and they were searching his for something, as if expecting him to crack under the weight of the statement.

“Good to know you still have terrible judgement,” Murphy teased, and she smacked his arm. He leaned back towards her, to kiss her properly, before pressing his forehead to hers, “I’m _kidding_. I love you too. _So_ much.”

She sat down next to him, and rested her head on his shoulder, happy to stay there with him as long as he needed, and he wondered how on earth he got so lucky. 

 

  
  
  
  
  
  


 

 _I took a trip out to the frozen lake_  
_And you felt so far away_  
_But I could feel it washing over me_  
_There's no escaping the harsh light of day_  
  
_Why do I do this to myself every time?_  
_I know the way it ends before it's even begun_  
_I am the only one at the finish line_  
**Fireworks – First Aid Kit**  
  
_Echo:_  
She finally found Bellamy, sitting on the edge of his bed with damp hair and his head in his hands. Diyoza had left to get him some food, and the two of them were alone, Echo staring at him and Bellamy staring at the floor. 

“I’ve been looking for you, I was worried,” she started, and he barely acknowledged her, just bobbing his head a little against his palms. She gritted her teeth, “You’re not taking care of yourself.”

He just continued staring at the metal below his feet. 

She clenched her fists at her sides, willing herself to say the words she knew she had to, “The last time it was this bad was when you thought she was dead the first time.”

He sucked in an exhausted breath, and she knew that he could tell where she was heading, but she had to actually say it. 

“You almost died from grief and shame last time, Bellamy. I’m not letting you do that again.”

He lifted his head to look at her, and there was something resigned in his gaze, the fragments of his pain scattered behind his blank expression. 

She crossed her arms.

“You love her,” she said, a little more aggressively than she meant to. She expected him to fight back, to argue, but instead he just stared back at her with those brown eyes filled with liquid sorrow and slowly nodded.

“Yeah.” His voice was barely a whisper; his lips didn’t even move. It slipped from his mouth in a breath, like if he hid it in his lungs, maybe it would hurt her less.

It didn’t. 

She felt it as keenly as if he’d screamed it at her, and a single tear crept over her eyelashes and down her cheek. 

She nodded curtly, brushing the offending droplet off her skin. 

He scrubbed his hands over his face, and she knew he felt it to his core when he said, “I’m sorry.” 

She felt her frustration dissipating, and sat down next to him on the bed, not touching, just mimicking his stance, close enough that he knew she wasn’t angry. Her voice was level when she said, “I wanted you to pick me. I hoped you would. But you’re never going to. The second you found out she was alive, you made your choice, Bellamy. I’ve known for a while, but I tried to ignore it, because I didn’t want to admit that even after all this time, you love her more than me. But you do. You will always love Clarke more than anyone else. That’s okay, Bellamy, we can’t control who we fall in love with. I’ll be okay.”

“I’m sorry,” he said again, more wrecked than the first time, and she felt every bit of resentment she had melt away. Because she had been aware for a long time – it was always Bellamy and Clarke, and it always would be – and maybe that had made it easier, the fact that a small part of her had always known. 

“I know. Just… make sure that she knows, okay?” Echo gripped his face in her hands and pressed a kiss to his forehead as she stood, “She needs you.”

“What about you?”

“I told you, I’ll get over it. We’re still family, right?” She smiled down at him. 

The ghost of a smile crossed his face, “Yeah, we’re still family.”

“Then we’ve got nothing else to talk about. We’re good. I promise.”

The last thing she saw before she turned away was Bellamy’s anguished expression, and the worst part of seeing it was that she knew it wasn’t for her. It was for the woman lying in the med bay on the floor below, refusing to see him because she didn’t think he cared. 

She started off towards the cafeteria, but on her way there, she realised she would have to pick a new room to move into, and her heart sank a little further. 

So Echo went looking for Jordan. He was the only person that never failed to make her feel a little cheerier, and she could really do with some cheering up. 

 

 

  
  
  
  
  


 

 _Your baby blues_  
_So full of wonder_  
_Your curly cues_  
_Your contagious smile_  
_And as I watch_  
_You start to grow up_  
_All I can do is hold you tight_  
**In My Arms - Plumb**  
  
_Abby:_  
Abby knew it wasn’t fair of her to expect her daughter to want to see her, but that didn’t stop her wanting it. 

She had spent days worrying about heartrates and oxygen levels, and now she was nervous for an entirely different reason – maybe Clarke would never want to speak to her again. Maybe she hated her, resented her for not seeing the signs sooner, or just being there for her, like a good mother is supposed to. 

It had been nearly a full day since Clarke first woke up, and everyone now knew that she was awake and that she didn’t want to see them. None of them could really blame her, although all of them felt it keenly; how upset she must still be if she couldn’t face a single one of them. It had affected Bellamy the most – he just didn’t leave his quarters at all, and he didn’t want to see anyone, although Diyoza kept kicking his door open to force him to eat. 

Murphy and Emori had been in and out of the room, keeping Clarke company when she was conscious, and taking short naps when she fell asleep. They reported to the rest of them every few hours, letting them know that Clarke was okay. They came to get Abby when she was unconscious so that she could check her vitals again, but that had been hours ago, and she was getting stressed about how little she knew about her daughter’s condition – not just the physical side of things, but mentally and psychologically. Those were important physiological things as well. 

Or at least, that was what she told herself as she found herself walking down the corridor towards the med bay and entered the room without so much as a knock. 

Clarke had been talking to Emori about something, while Murphy grinned lazily, his feet up on the bed beside Clarke’s knees, tipping his chair back at a truly ambitious angle. 

When Abby burst in, the conversation ended abruptly, and they all looked up at her in surprise. Murphy lowered his chair back down with an almost ominous _thunk_ , and raised an eyebrow at her. 

“Hey Abby. Did you need something?” He asked: the unspoken, _‘get the hell out’_ pretty clear in his tone. 

She took a tentative step forward, “I know you wanted some space, sweetie, but I need to check on you while you’re conscious. Cognitive tests are important to know whether you’re recovering normally, but if you want me to come back later, I can, and–”

Clarke cut her off, “It’s okay, Mom, you can stay.”

Murphy turned back to her questioningly, but she shook her head infinitesimally at him, and that seemed to be enough. 

He stood and reached for Emori’s hand, “C’mon, let’s go and find Monty’s moonshine and see if Jordan wants to have some fun.”

“Murphy, don’t you dare!” Clarke yelled after him, but he just winked playfully as they left, Emori waving cheerily, like everything was normal. It was as if Clarke wasn’t in a hospital bed, and the events of the last few days, or, hell – years – hadn’t happened. Maybe that was what she needed: to just move forward, instead of dwelling on it. 

But Abby wasn’t sure _what_ she needed from them, and whether it was different to what she expected from her mother, and it was driving her to distraction. She pushed down the part of her that wanted to scoop her daughter into her arms, and instead performed tests; flashing a torch in her eyes and asking her questions so that she could record her answers on the clipboard by the bed. She hated that the interaction was so rigid, and it was moving far too quickly for comfort; she was scared that Clarke was going to kick her out the second it was over. 

“Mom?” She asked quietly, and Abby stopped writing. 

“Yes, sweetheart?”

She wasn’t looking at her, just staring off into the middle distance somewhere, “I’m sorry.”

Abby immediately put the clipboard down and sat on the edge of the bed, her hands clasping Clarke’s cheeks, imploring her to look up at her. When she did, Abby could see the anguish in her eyes, and it broke her heart. 

“Don’t be sorry, don’t ever be sorry for that,” she said, trying to communicate how deeply she felt that way, as Clarke sniffled and tried to avert her eyes again. She ducked her head closer so that she still had her daughter’s attention, “I mean it, Clarke, you have nothing to be sorry for, and you don’t need to feel ashamed of what happened, okay? It’s not your fault, I promise.”

“What am I supposed to do?” Her face crumpled and she covered it with her own hands as Abby pulled her into a hug. Clarke sobbed, “What am I supposed to do now?”

“All you need to do is get through every day,” she said reassuringly, stroking up and down her spine like she used to do when Clarke was little, “It’s not going to be easy, but you’re already doing better than me. I started taking pills so that I would stop feeling guilty for living when so many others had died, and it almost killed me. You’re the reason it didn’t. You’re the reason a lot of people lived when they should have died.”

“But I killed people too. I hurt people,” she was muffled against Abby’s slowly dampening shirt, but she sounded no less upset.

“You did what you had to do to keep the people you loved alive. We’ve all done terrible things, some of us for far less. You’re remarkable, Clarke. I’m so…” Abby felt her own tears rising, and she didn’t bother trying to push them down, “I’m so _proud_ of you. I will always be proud of you, and I will always love you, and I will always be your mother, even if you don’t want me.”

Clarke pulled away, and it seemed as though the moment might be over, but instead, she grabbed Abby’s shoulders and looked her in the eyes, “I never said I don’t want you, Mom. I just didn’t want to worry you. And then after… after I woke up, I didn’t… I didn’t want you to look at me any differently. Like I’m… I’m broken.”

Abby stroked her cheek, “Aw, baby, you’re not broken. You’re not. You’re gonna be okay, you’re gonna be okay, _I promise_ , and I’m going to be there, whenever you need me, okay? You’re gonna be okay.”

She drew her back into her arms and Clarke pressed her forehead against her shoulder, gripping her tightly as Abby resumed stroking her back. They sat that way for a long time – until Murphy returned – and Abby just kept repeating, _“You’re gonna be okay.”_

She hoped that if she said it enough, Clarke might finally believe it.

 

 

  
  
  
  
  
  


_Light me up again_  
_Light me up again_  
  
_And you don’t hold back_  
_So I won’t hold back_  
_And you don’t look back_  
_So I won’t look back_  
**Light Me Up – Ingrid Michaelson**  
  
_Shaw:_  
Despite all of the horrible things that had happened since the Eligius ship returned to Earth, there were still things that Shaw was thankful for. 

One of those, the one that was occupying most of his attention in that particular moment, was the dark-haired woman draped across his chest, fast asleep. He stared up at the ceiling and couldn’t help the small smile that tweaked at his lips. 

They hadn’t known each other for long, comparatively speaking, but _god… he was so gone for her_. He couldn’t help it. She was perfect. 

Or at least, that was how he rationalised it to himself. 

He wasn’t ready to tell her yet, but it was enough, at least for now, that _he_ knew.

As he slowly drifted off, his hands carding through her hair, he wondered how he had ever managed to get so lucky. Because it wasn’t just Raven that he was thankful for, although she was the most important – he had made friends here, _he fit in_ , like he never would have among the Eligius men. 

A small stab of worry went through him when his thoughts drifted to Clarke. He liked Clarke. She was his first exposure to the people on Earth, and with the notable exception of Raven, he really hadn’t been so impressed with anyone else. She had held her ground against a veritable army; one lone woman who would do anything to protect her child and her home. 

He felt awful that she had been so lonely that she decided the only way out was suicide. He had never experienced something like that, nothing that bad, but he had seen it happen to people he knew. People who just faded from view until one day they disappeared altogether. 

Clarke wanted to be left alone, and he understood that too; but he also knew that she _needed_ her friends, her _family_ , to get her through whatever she was going through. The only reason she didn’t want to see anyone was because she thought they didn’t care, and also, judging by what Abby had told him that afternoon, she harboured a great deal of shame for her actions. 

He wished he could make her feel better. He wished he could make everyone on the ship better, so that the strained calm that accompanied every interaction would fall away and people would just start talking to each other again.

* * *

The next morning, he became conscious of Raven straddling him, poking his cheek to wake him up. He laughed and cracked one eye open, his hands falling down to rest on her thighs, fingers tapping her brace.

“Did you need something?”

“No,” she frowned, “But I was hoping you might _want_ something.”

He pretended he had no idea what she was talking about, until she leaned down and kissed the teasing smirk from his face. 

God, he was so unbelievably in love with this damn woman. 

When they had finally dragged themselves out of bed – and then had to spend another inordinate length of time dragging themselves from the shower – they arrived at the cafeteria at around lunchtime, completely starving. 

They shuffled in next to Diyoza and Murphy, who were in a very animated conversation, while Emori watched them from his other side, hiding her smile behind her hand. 

“Shaw, how do I explain, uh…” Diyoza trailed off, as if realising how ridiculous the question was, but he stared at her, waiting for her to finish it. She squirmed a little under his gaze, and pinched the bridge of her nose before finally grumbling under her breath, “How do I explain memes to people who’ve never had the internet?”

Shaw burst out laughing, and it made Diyoza relax a little; she squinted it at him in the way she always did when she was trying not to show her amusement, and he considered it a victory. 

“I honestly don’t know,” he managed to say through the tears of mirth, shovelling food in his mouth to try and temper his laughter.

Abby and Echo joined them, grinning at the first show of joy the ship had seen in far too long. Jordan clambered onto a seat across from them, clearly bored of eavesdropping and actually excited to participate in the conversation, “Dad always said that Bellamy’s the one that loves history, he could probably help you.”

The atmosphere changed again, and Shaw caught himself just before he audibly winced. 

Everyone was back to being grave and concerned, and Echo looked a little upset. Raven reached across to squeeze her shoulder, and she offered a nod and a shrug in response. Shaw still wasn’t a fan of the spy, not by _any_ stretch of the imagination, but Raven told him about what happened with Bellamy, and he did feel bad for her. Although not bad enough to attempt to offer her any comfort of his own, not that she would accept it from him. 

Raven herself looked suddenly haunted by the events of the past few days, an expression he hoped he wouldn’t see for a few hours more. He had funnelled all his energy into distracting her from her pain a few days before, and she had only remembered just before they went to bed, which had resulted in a teary-eyed woman angrily crying into his chest. He knew she was only angry at herself, not him, and he tried to comfort her, but it seemed that all she needed was for someone to hold her. So that was what he had done. It was what he had done every night since, although her tears seemed to have dried up following that first night, and they were replaced with an air of haughty frustration that he couldn’t seem to soothe.

Abby looked tired all of a sudden, and Shaw wondered if she needed a break, although from what exactly he wasn’t sure. Murphy and Emori gripped each other’s hands under the table, grimacing into their plates, and Diyoza just seemed resigned. 

Jordan looked downcast, “Sorry.”

He wasn’t going to let Jordan blame himself for the sudden shift, so Shaw leaned forward and clapped him on the arm, “Don’t apologise, I’m sure Bellamy would be really good at explaining it, though from what Raven tells me, he’s probably a better resource for Roman history.”

“Or Greek,” Raven agreed. 

“Dork,” Murphy complained, with no small degree of fondness. 

Everyone breathed a little easier, and the conversation moved onto less contentious things, but Shaw couldn’t stop thinking about it. 

Bellamy was wrecked. What happened to Clarke had completely destroyed him, and all of them knew it. 

But it had affected all of them, too. 

Diyoza was pregnant, and fatigued, and she was the person who had come up with idea to shoot Clarke. She could pretend to be unbothered as much as she wanted; Shaw knew her better than the rest of them, and he could tell she was feeling the consequences of her actions.

Jordan was sad and confused. Clarke was the first person he met, with Bellamy, and now both of them were confined to their rooms, plagued with anguish, and poor Jordan just wanted to help – he just didn’t know how.

Emori was trying to be strong for Murphy, but Shaw could see her closing her eyes for long periods of time, when Murphy wasn’t paying attention, and he knew that she was trying to force the tears back.

Raven was barely holding it together, and it hurt him to see her so upset, but it hurt him more to see her struggling to hide it; her smiles wavering as the sting of grief slipped through the cracks in her armour. 

Abby was clearly exhausted, and Shaw was convinced that the previous night was the first full night of sleep she’d had in a long time. She had been upset, that evening, when she left Clarke’s room, but some of the weight was lifted from her shoulders, and she appeared a little less tightly wound now than she had been before. 

At least that was one less person to fret about. 

He caught Diyoza’s eye, and realised they were both thinking the same thing. As he helped Raven to her feet and offered to help her on the bridge, he started running over everything in his mind. 

He loved Raven, but she was hurting, and he wanted to help. 

So when Diyoza approached him later that night, he followed her to a desk, where a notebook covered in her familiar scrawl was lying open. 

“We need a plan.” She pointed out when he rolled his eyes good-naturedly. 

“We need a time machine,” he retorted, but he sat down next to her anyway, gesturing for her to explain. 

 

 

  
  
  
  
  


 

 _Well, sing, sing at the top of your voice >_  
_Love without fear in your heart_  
_Feel, feel like you still have a choice_  
_If we all light up we can scare away the dark_  
**Scare Away The Dark – Passenger**  
  
_Jordan:_  
He wasn’t intending to visit Clarke. 

It had been made very clear to him that the woman just wanted some space from everyone, and he had really been intending to give it to her. 

But he had wandered down to the algae farm, to sit and watch some of the videos his parents left for him, and he had quite literally stumbled over her. 

“Sorry, I’m _really_ sorry, I didn’t mean– _sorry,_ ” he stammered as he righted himself and checked that he hadn’t hurt her when he tripped over her ankle. 

She was propped up against the wall with her legs out in front of her, tucked behind a large partition of plants, like she was hiding. 

_Oh,_ he realised, _she is actually hiding._

“It’s okay,” she murmured, “I should be apologising, I shouldn’t have come down here.”

She made to get up but he shook his head frantically, “No, it’s fine. Do you mind the company?”

“No. Do you?”

“No. This may come as a surprise, but I actually really like having people around,” he said teasingly, smiling, and she offered a small one back. 

“I bet you’d prefer your parents though, right?” She said pensively, and he flopped down next to her. 

“Yeah,” he didn’t bother sugar-coating it; why would he? She knew better than anyone what it felt like to miss his parents – she’d spent six years missing them. He fiddled with the remote in his hand, “But they got to raise me, and I know they loved me, and I love them. Always.”

“Me too,” Clarke whispered, “I love your parents, and I miss them so much. It felt like I barely got them back before I lost them again.”

He shifted closer, “I get that. When I first woke up, I thought maybe Dad had done it. He told me that they might be gone by the time I woke up, but there was still a small part of me that…”

“…hoped.” Clarke finished for him. 

“Yeah – and when I realised that I was alone, that they were gone, I… I didn’t wake you guys up straight away; I spent a full day just walking around the ship, trying to remember every single thing we’d done together in every room. I cried a lot.”

“Hope is a dangerous thing,” she said slowly, carefully considering her words, “It broke me, I think.”

“No, it didn’t,” he draped an arm around her shoulder, “Because if you still had hope, you wouldn’t feel broken. I think the dangerous thing is losing hope. Having your hope taken away – _that_ can kill you.”

“Yes it can,” she breathed, and he suddenly realised what he said. He opened his mouth to apologise, but she leaned her head on his shoulder and sighed. She nudged him, “What’s that?”

He realised she was pointing at the remote in his hand, “Oh, Mom and Dad left me some videos, and it’s been so busy around here that I haven’t managed to watch them all. I’m about a quarter of the way through them, I think. I come down here to watch them, because it makes me feel more at home.”

“Do you want me to leave, so you can–”

“Absolutely not, I told you, I love having you around,” he said enthusiastically, “Besides, you could probably do with seeing Mom and Dad as much as I could.”

He pressed a button and the familiar screen on the wall across from them lit up. A list of videos appeared in the center of it, all of them labelled for particular occasions. He scrolled down the list, trying to find one that would cheer them up, until Clarke rested her hand over his, stopping him. He looked at the list again, until he realised which file she wanted to watch.

**The Thing With Feathers**

“What does that mean?” He frowned, confused. 

She pressed play in lieu of answering.

 _“Hey, son,”_ Monty appeared, still quite young, and beaming from ear to ear, _“Harper finally got you down for your nap, and then you woke up again, and screamed for an **hour** while I ran around trying to placate you. Fatherhood is a gift.”_

Clarke snorted. 

_“I don’t know if we ever read you this poem when you were little, because I’m still in the present… or the past, for you. Anyway, it’s one of your Mom’s favourites, by a wise woman called Emily Dickinson: **"Hope is the thing with the feathers, that perches in the soul, and sings the tune without the words and never stops at all."** It’s beautiful, right? You’re probably wondering why I’m bringing this up now, when you’re barely a year old… Basically, I **hope** that you cry less, as you get older.”_

Now it was Jordan’s turn to snicker. 

Harper walked over and kissed his cheek, _“What your father means is that it’s all about holding onto hope, and never letting it go. I read it when we were stuck in Mount Weather, and after that it was like a mantra, I repeated it to myself whenever things got hard. Hope is like a bird, and you should cultivate it, and feed it, like you would with a real bird – keep it alive and thriving.”_

 _“It’s just now occurring to me that he was born on a spaceship and has never seen a bird before,”_ Monty’s eyes widened, and Harper swatted his arm playfully. 

_“Then we’ll show him pictures!”_ She giggled, _“Or get Clarke to draw him one.”_

Clarke drew in a sharp breath, and Jordan wished he could see her face to make sure she was alright, but she was still resting her head on his shoulder, facing the screen. He didn’t know if she was happy or if she needed comfort, so he settled for leaning his head on top of Clarke’s, and she sniffled into his shoulder as they watched Harper and Monty argue over what kind of bird they would make her draw.

 _“This video got a bit confusing,”_ Monty said, seemingly only just remembering that he and Harper were still on camera, _“But basically we just wanted to tell you that we love you, and that no matter what happens, you should never lose hope.”_

 _“As another wise woman said, **“To hope is to give yourself to the future, and that commitment to the future makes the present inhabitable”.** She’s right – you should use your hope to inspire you every day – it’s not something unattainable and far away, it’s right there with you, always. Like we always will be, even after we’re gone,”_ Harper said warmly, with only a hint of sadness in her eyes. 

It was made worse by the knowledge that at this point, they were only making the videos as a precaution – just in case – and yet they were still taking them seriously, still pouring their heart and souls into them, for him. He caught the impressed, loving glance that Monty bestowed on Harper while she stared composedly into the camera, and he couldn’t help but feel warmth spreading through him at the sight. Jordan could say a lot about his parents, but he could never say they didn’t love each other. 

_“And as the wisest woman of all said, **“As long as we’re still breathing, I still have hope,”**_ Monty said.

 _“That was Bellamy,”_ Harper corrected him. 

_“I stand by what I said,”_ Monty grinned, and she pretended to be cross even as a besotted smile spread across her cheeks. The video ended, and there was a beat of silence. 

Then Jordan and Clarke were laughing, and for the first time since he woke up, he really felt as though his parents were still there with him, like they promised they always would be. There were tears on his cheeks, and he knew that Clarke was crying too, but it didn’t matter because they were in it together. 

They were happy and sad and alone and together all at once, and he had never seen Clarke look so relaxed, not once since they met. She still looked burdened, but there was a lightness to her shoulders that hadn’t been there before. 

He beamed at her when she turned to face him, and she smiled back unreservedly. 

“Thank you,” she said softly.

“Anytime,” he said, and pulled her closer for an awkward one-armed hug, “I mean it, Clarke, if you ever want to come down here and watch these with me, I think I’d really like that. It’s easier with you here; it makes me remember that they had a life before me, and that they wanted me to have one after them. It makes it feel less like a memory, and more real, y’know?”

“A memory,” she murmured, and he wasn’t sure, but he believed she was thinking about her radio calls to Bellamy, “Yeah I understand that.”

She was getting restless, her hand fiddling with her shirt, where he knew her bandages lay underneath, and he wondered if it was uncomfortable for her to be sitting this way. Until he realised that she was fidgeting because she was contemplating leaving him alone, and he put a hand on her forearm, “Do you maybe want to watch another one now?”

She turned to look at him with a twinkle in her eye, “Fine. But only because I’m too injured to move.”

“Whatever,” he grinned back, and pressed play on the next video. 

 

 

  
  
  
  
  


 

_Thread by thread I come apart._  
_If brokenness is a work of art,_  
_Surely this must be my masterpiece._  
  
_I'm only honest when it rains._  
_If I time it right, the thunder breaks_  
_When I open my mouth._  
_I want to tell you but I don't know how._  
  
_I'm only honest when it rains,_  
_An open book with a torn out page,_  
_And my ink's run out._  
_I want to love you but I don't know how._  
**Neptune – Sleeping At Last**  
  
_Bellamy:_

He couldn’t remember how to function without Clarke by his side, and it was driving him insane. He had spent years training himself to be a leader on his own, and a few weeks with Clarke had snapped him right back to where he was, leaning on her for support at every turn. 

He tried to tell himself that he didn’t need her, and that might have been true at one point or another, when he was on the Ring, but it had definitely become a lie once he got to the ground. 

He needed her like a binary star needs its pair. He needed her like the heart needs the head. He needed her like lightning needs thunder or a pilot fish needs a shark.

He just _needed_ her. Selfishly, unfairly – he needed her, because without her, he felt lost. He was adrift in an endless galaxy of stars that weren’t her, and it was tearing him apart from the inside. 

“Bellamy!” Diyoza’s voice cut through his futile attempts to let unconsciousness take him and he pressed the heel of his hand against his eyebrow, trying to rub some of the tension out.

“I’m not hungry.”

“And I’m not your mother, but if you’re going to act like a child, I will treat you like one and force-feed you,” she grouched back. He sat up and glared at her, but she was unfazed, just putting a tray of food in his lap and leaning back against the wall to watch him, her hands perched on top of her pregnant belly. 

He shoved forkfuls of it into his mouth, swallowing painfully in an effort to finish it so that he could be alone again. 

“Why are you doing this?” He asked between mouthfuls. 

“Doing what, Mr Blake?”

“Taking care of me.”

“I’m not doing it for you,” she said, “I’m doing it for Clarke. That woman has been through enough, and you wallowing yourself into an early grave isn’t helping her.”

“I don’t understand you,” he admitted, gazing up at her interestedly. 

She sighed, “No-one ever does.”

* * *

After Diyoza left, when he was alone with his thoughts again, he started spiralling. Clarke’s words from the radio calls, from her video, from the last few weeks, were rattling around his brain, drowning him in anguish. Then his own voice joined in. It was the same tape on a loop, the one that had been playing since her face first appeared on the bridge. 

He had failed her.

Again.

He had left her behind. 

_Again._

He had almost lost her.

_**Again.** _

When were they going to stop hurting each other? When would the universe just give them a moment to breathe? It felt like they were never going to stop orbiting each other long enough to touch, and he was so tired of spinning just out of her reach. 

He started pacing in the corridor in front of his room, just to release some of the pent-up energy he’d been wrestling with for the last week, trying to expel it through his feet. He didn’t realise that he had paced his way down to the airlocks until he was standing in front of them, staring out in the vast cosmic emptiness of space. 

The darkness stretched through the glass, surrounding him, and he found that his breath was suddenly out of his grasp, slipping away past the constellations until it had disappeared entirely and he was gasping against the wall.

The darkness enveloped his vision, coiling around him and refusing to let go. 

He collapsed to the floor, the galaxies before him suddenly pinpricks of light swimming in his periphery. 

He was panicked, petrified, unable to move or call out or breathe, and he wondered if he would die down here. 

Alone. 

Like she was. 

And just like that, anger flared in his chest. He was furious at himself for being so self-involved, so pitiful. The anger burned through his lungs, and the oxygen was dragged away from the stars, falling back into his chest where it belonged as he heaved painful breaths against the floor. He pushed himself up on his hands and knees, the outrage pulsing through him, and where his fear had emptied him of everything but panic, the rage filled the voids it left behind. 

He stood up, and before he had really registered what he was doing, he swung his fist, hard. It connected excruciatingly with the solid metal of the airlock door, the noise ricocheting through him and amplifying as it rolled down the corridor. 

The hinge slipped between two of his knuckles and it sliced through the skin there, adding a sharper stab of pain to the dull ache the rest of the metal had caused. He focussed on the pain, trying to bring himself back to reality, but he was still spinning out, lost somewhere in his own head, still blaming himself for letting Clarke go. 

Blood dripped through his fingers, ending up on the floor, but he didn’t care. 

All he cared about was Clarke. 

And he honestly couldn’t blame her if she never wanted to speak to him again. _It was his fault._ He hadn’t been there, he hadn’t noticed that she was in pain. She might forgive him one day, but he would _never_ forgive himself. His blindness had nearly gotten her killed, and he might never have even known if Murphy hadn’t locked the airlocks. 

He walked slowly back to his room, wrapping the bottom of his shirt around his hand so he didn’t bleed all over the ship. When he got there, he crawled under his covers, facing the wall.

Maybe if he finally managed to get some sleep, he would be able to think clearly enough to calm down. 

Unfortunately, sleep was out of his grasp, and he just lay there, frowning into the shadows as his brain whirred with a terrified, livid intensity. 

 

 

 

 

 

 _Only bad people live to see_  
_Their likeness set in stone_  
_What does that make me?_  
  
_I'm not in the swing of things_  
_But what I really mean is_  
_Not in the swing of things yet_  
**Still Sane – Lorde**  
  
_Diyoza:_  
Diyoza and Shaw had discussed it at length the previous evening, and after a lot of arguing, they managed to agree on the right course of action. Which was how she ended up leaning against Bellamy’s door while she watched Shaw tug Raven down the corridor towards her. Raven looked confused to be there, and Diyoza knew as well as Shaw did that this was probably going to go very badly, but she was sick and tired of letting everything go just because Clarke was shot. 

She knocked, but there was no answer, so she just walked right in, dragging the others in behind her. It was dark, but she could dimly make out a figure under the blankets, curled up and facing the wall. 

“Bellamy?” She called out, loud enough to wake him, in case he was asleep. The figure yanked the covers off and rolled over to face them with some degree of resentment; he was awake, just uninterested in company. Too bad, she thought, he’s going to get some anyway. 

“What do you want?” Bellamy growled. 

Diyoza flicked the light on and Bellamy groaned and sat up, glaring over at them. He really did look awful; he was gaunt, with bags under his eyes and clammy skin. His hair stuck to his forehead, his cheeks were tearstained, and as he rubbed the back of his neck, they noticed the dried blood and bruises on his knuckles. 

“Did you break it?” Shaw asked, and when Bellamy glanced up at him, confused, he clarified, “Your hand, I mean.”

Bellamy shook his head dismissively, “No, it’s just bruised.”

“What the hell did you do?” Raven snapped, moving to sit next to him on the bed so she could inspect it closer. 

He half-heartedly tried to pull away from her, but Raven wasn’t to be stopped once she started something, and he knew that, so he gave up and just let her look at his hand. 

He sighed, “I was angry, I punched… I hit a wall, and I bruised my hand.”

“Pretty badly bruised, you fucking _idiot_ ,” she snapped. 

He only shrugged, “Barely feel it. I honestly forgot about it, until Shaw pointed it out.”

“What did you hit?”

Bellamy closed his eyes and muttered, “The airlock door.”

“Well that’s a mature way to deal with your problems,” Raven said snarkily, which prompted a raised eyebrow from Shaw. She fidgeted and avoided his gaze sheepishly, reminded of her own behaviour. 

“Actually, that’s why we’re here,” Diyoza explained, “You’re both miserable, and angry at yourselves, and you both miss Clarke.”

Neither of them said anything in response, so she pressed on. 

“Look, I get it. You feel guilty, and you’re worried about your friend, and you just want to run into her room and tell her you love her, but you can’t because she doesn’t want to see you, and that makes you pity yourselves.”

Raven seethed, “What gives you the right to–” 

“Let her talk, Raven, please?” Shaw uttered, and it was quiet, but it was enough for her to close her mouth and gesture begrudgingly at Diyoza to continue. 

“You’re so busy feeling guilty for not noticing the signs earlier, that neither of you is in a position to be here for her when she needs you now.”

They started protesting but she held up a hand until they fell silent again. 

“You’re _pathetic_ , the both of you. This isn’t about _you_ , it’s about Clarke. All the self-pity in the world isn’t going to magically fix the things you didn’t do a week ago, and it’s not going to make her any better. Pull yourselves together. Be the people Clarke thinks you are, not the people who spent the last few weeks ignoring her. She needs you, and from what I’ve seen, you both need her. You’re not helping her by punching airlocks or being angry all the time. _Get over yourselves_.” Diyoza barked. Then she turned tailed and walked out of the room without so much as a goodbye.

* * *

Clarke was moving from the med bay back into her own room that afternoon, and Diyoza offered to help, which surprisingly, Clarke accepted. When she arrived, Murphy and Abby were just finished unhooking her from the IV.

“Hey,” Clarke winced as she glanced up, “Thanks for doing this.”

“Sure,” Diyoza replied, before she grabbed a wheelchair from the side of the room and rolled it up to the side of the bed. Clarke tried to protest that she didn't need it, but after her excursion down to the algae farm without telling anyone, when she'd burst two stitches, Abby wasn't going to let her take _any_ risks.

Murphy and Abby each got Clarke under one shoulder and helped her down into it, and she flinched when she sat down, gritting her teeth, but didn’t complain. She took a few slow breaths before nodding curtly and Diyoza took that as her cue to start wheeling her down the hallway. 

The four of them moved slowly, trying not to cause any unnecessary discomfort, but Clarke seemed restless. 

“You good?” Murphy asked her. 

“Fine.” She said distantly. 

Diyoza was briefly confused, until she realised what Clarke already knew: the only way back to her room was past Bellamy’s. She was about to tell her not to worry, that he hadn’t left his room since he entered it, when the man himself rounded the corner, looking almost frenzied. 

When he saw them, he stopped dead in his tracks, and his eyes locked onto Clarke, who refused to look up from her own lap. He made to take a step towards them, but seemingly thought better of it and planted his feet, just staring helplessly. There was a tenderness to his gaze, something that only ever appeared when he looked at Clarke, and in any other circumstance, Diyoza would have rolled her eyes, but as it was, it made her heart clench uncomfortably. 

_Goddamn hormones_ , she thought, trying to dismiss the feeling. 

Clarke was still just staring down at her knees, so Diyoza took control, moving them down the corridor a little faster, until they were rounding the corner while Bellamy stood rooted to the spot, watching them go with an unreadable expression. She almost felt bad for him. 

When they arrived at Clarke’s room, they helped her into bed, and she immediately relaxed as she sank into her pillows. Murphy and Abby hugged her gently, and left in silence, but Diyoza put a hand on her shoulder. 

“He doesn’t blame you, you know,” she said, “You don’t have to be ashamed over what happened.”

She thought the other woman might brush her off, but instead, Clarke looked up at her with wide eyes, blinking back oceans of sorrow when she said, _“Thank you.”_

She wasn't just thanking her for that, but for everything; she was telling Diyoza that she didn't blame her for throwing the gun to Murphy; she was absolving her of blame. Diyoza wasn’t sure she’d ever heard anyone sound so sincere, and for the second time in five minutes, she thought she might cry. To avoid doing it in front of her, she just shrugged, “Don’t bother. I’ve been there. I know what it feels like when you fail to die. You’ll be okay, eventually.”

Clarke looked like she was about to thank her again, so she quickly ducked out of the room, inhaling sharply through her nose. 

“Did she thank you, too?” Murphy asked sympathetically, making her jump. She hadn’t realised that he’d stuck around, but then she supposed he did have a particular protectiveness when it came to Clarke. 

“How did you know?”

“You look like you’re surprised and trying not to cry,” he pointed out, “Don’t worry about it – she did the same thing to me and I was a mess.”

She rolled her shoulders back, trying to release some of the tension she’d been carrying around since she threw Murphy the gun. She eyed him deviously, “Shaw told me you might have moonshine somewhere. Have you ever had tequila?”

His face lit up, “Does that mean what I think it means?”

Diyoza poked her head back through the door, "Hey, Clarke, do you wanna watch us get drunk?"

"Desperately," Clarke said sarcastically, but she was nodding her enthusiasm.

"Meet back here in ten?" Murphy asked. 

“I’ll go get the bottle.”

“I’ll get Shaw and Emori.”

Then they turned and walked in opposite directions, a spring in both of their steps that hadn’t been there before.

 

 

 

  
  
  


 

 _And all the lies, they were wiser_  
_And wise were the lies_  
_And the lies were on fire_  
_And the fires were put out just to be lit again_  
  
_You're alone 'til you're not alone_  
_And that's all you need to know_  
_Every time you decide to stay_  
_Then the world will make you go_  
_And that's all you need to know_  
**Older and Taller – Regina Spektor**  
  
_Raven:_  
Shaw had been dragged away by Murphy again that morning, after returning to bed late and drunk the night before. He had curled up next to her in bed, giggling and peppering kisses all over her face. She had tried to be annoyed at him for being drunk, but he was far too busy melting her heart with affection to notice her irritation. It was only the third time since they'd woken up that she'd seen him hanging out with her friends for _fun_ , and Raven realised that she had sort of monopolised his time over the last few weeks. Not that he seemed to mind. In fact, he seemed all too willing to spend every moment with her, waking and otherwise. It was sweet. 

A part of her worried that it was because he didn’t trust anyone else on the ship, and not because he actually cared about her as much as she cared for him, but she tried to ignore that part. 

She also tried to ignore the part of her that understood why he had let Diyoza ring her out for being so miserable, because she was perfectly content being annoyed at her boyfriend… 

_Shit. Was Shaw her boyfriend?_

They hadn’t exactly talked about it, but they were certainly acting like a couple. And she had feelings for him – strong, intense feelings, bordering on… 

_Shit._

She loved Shaw. 

Well, now she was _really_ pissed at him. 

She was so annoyed that she forgot that she was supposed to be avoiding Clarke and knocked right on her bedroom door. 

“Yeah?” Came a weary voice from inside, and she cracked the door open enough to stick her head through. 

“Hey, sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you–”

“You didn’t,” Clarke said, perking up a little when she saw her, “Are you okay?”

Raven laughed incredulously, “Am _I_ okay?”

Clarke paled and busied herself bracing pillows behind herself to help sit up, but shrugged it off, “You’ve got that, _‘I’m about to blow up a bridge’_ look; I thought you might be upset.”

She beckoned Raven into the room, and she tentatively sat down on the edge of the bed, being careful not to jostle her injured friend as she did. It occurred to her that she’d never been in Clarke’s quarters before, which only hit home just how distant they’d been since they left Earth. There were a few sketches taped to the walls, and some clothes draped over the back of the chair next to the desk, but it was otherwise pretty bare. 

“I’m fine, I was jus– I’m angry at Shaw,” she admitted. 

Clarke quirked an eyebrow at her, “Why?”

“Because he went behind my back and helped Diyoza corner me and Bellamy.”

“To do what?” 

“Tell us to stop being useless and actually talk to you,” Raven confessed, and Clarke looked like she was trying not to smile, which was confusing, because Raven had been sure she would be resentful. “What’s so funny?”

“Nothing, just,” Clarke paused, appraising her, “You’re annoyed at Shaw, but you’re following his advice.”

“I am not! I came to talk to you because you’re my friend and I miss you, it had nothing to do with Diyoza or Shaw,” she snapped. 

The smile fell off Clarke’s face and her blue eyes were suddenly swimming with tears.

Raven freaked out, “Oh my god, I’m so sorry, shit, please don’t cry!”

She brushed at her cheeks apathetically, like she didn’t even have the energy for such a small action, “It’s okay, I’m fine, I just… I miss you too, Raven. I’ve missed you for so long.”

“We don’t have to miss each other anymore, Clarke,” she reminded her, “We’re both right here.”

“I know,” a familiar crease appeared between her eyebrows, “It just didn’t… _doesn’t_ feel like it.”

Raven’s heart sank. She’d never been good at this – being comforting – and she wasn’t sure exactly how to help. So she said the only thing she hoped would make it better – the truth. 

“Forget about last week, all I care about is right now,” Raven said decisively. A slow smile crept over Clarke’s face, and just like that, in an instant, they were back to normal, like nothing had changed. Raven lifted the covers up and crawled under them, sitting next to Clarke and poking at her arm impishly, “And right now, I want to complain about my boyfriend.”

“As long as he’s not dating _me_ , I think he’s a step up from your last one,” Clarke joked. 

“He’s just so _nice_ all the time,” Raven fretted, “He keeps just being sweet, and offering to help everyone, and going out of his way to make my day better. He respects my abilities, and tries to smooth things over between me and Diyoza. Plus, he’s really nervous about fitting in with everyone, which is frustratingly adorable. And he cares about _you;_ he checked on you a lot when you were unconscious… urgh, _and_ he has feelings for me.”

“I have yet to see a problem,” Clarke lolled her head back against the headboard, smirking. 

“He’s _too perfect_ , Clarke, there has to be something wrong with him.”

Clarke patted her leg reassuringly, “You’re just worried because the last time you were in love, he ended up cheating on you. It’s not like that this time.”

“I never said anything about love, Griffin,” Raven bluffed. 

“You don’t have to,” the smirk grew wider, “I recognise a lovesick puppy when I see one.”

“I am _not_ lovesick.”

“Yes you are, don’t deny it.”

She sighed, loudly, so that her friend knew exactly how exasperated she was, before she said, “Fine, I’m a little bit in love with Shaw, and it’s annoying.”

“Ha! Does Shaw know?”

“No, of course not, it’s barely been a month, I’m not telling him I love him _now!”_

“It’s been 125 years,” Clarke teased.

“Well what about you and Bellamy?” Raven complained, “You’re just as bad!”

Clarke sobered up immediately, “The difference being that you and Shaw are already a couple, so there’s no need to work yourself up. Bellamy and I… it’s… it’s never gonna happen.” 

“But you love him,” she pointed out.

“Yeah,” Clarke sniffled, and a few tears escaped her lashes, “But I… I’ve lost him, Raven. I’m never going to be able to tell him how I feel, not now. Everything’s so screwed up – he’s with Echo, and he doesn’t trust me, I radioed him every day for six years, and I waited for him, and then I left him behind, and we’ve barely spoken to each other since we left Earth and… and I addressed my suicide to him, Raven, how are we supposed to come back from that?”

She started crying in earnest, and Raven gripped her in a tight hug, careful not to disturb her bandages, “Don’t be ridiculous, Clarke; you’ve come back from worse things.”

She blinked at her sceptically.

“Alright, maybe you haven’t come back from something quite this big before, but you’ll get there. He loves you too much to let you leave him again.”

“No he doesn’t, Raven.” 

“Yes he does,” she assured her, but Clarke was still looking at her with that deep melancholy in her eyes, the kind that sank deeper than could be seen from the outside. 

“Maybe he used to, but not anymore,” she insisted. 

“Wow,” Raven frowned, “You _actually_ believe that, don’t you? You’re forgetting, I was on the Ring with him after Praimfaya. He was destroyed. We all were, but Bellamy… Bellamy was something else. He refused to eat or sleep, and he barely spoke to any of us for the first six months. We were all grieving you, and everyone else we lost, but he was completely inconsolable. It was like your death snapped something inside him, like he wasn’t capable of functioning anymore. Eventually, once Monty worked out his recipe for algae moonshine, I finally got Bellamy drunk enough to actually talk about his feelings, and boy, Clarke, I’ve never _seen_ someone so heartbroken, or so in love. He kept saying that he should have told you how he felt, and then maybe you would have at least died knowing that you were loved. He said that he didn’t know how to lead without you, because you always shouldered the burden together, and he suddenly felt like Atlas, carrying it all on his own. He cried about the last time he hugged you, told me that he wished he could have just a few minutes more, to hold you, to keep you close. He told me he’d been in love with you since before Mount Weather, but that it had taken you leaving for him to realise it. He told me how jealous he’d been of Lexa, and how bitter it made him that he couldn’t shake it. He told me that it felt like a piece of him was missing without you there. He–”

“Please stop,” Clarke whispered, slamming her eyes shut in a futile attempt to stop the tears from falling. 

“I’m not trying to upset you, I’m just saying… he’s not as okay as you think he is. Just like you weren’t as okay as we thought you were.”

Raven worried instantly that she may have overstepped, and that was confirmed when Clarke didn’t respond, and instead seemed to retreat into herself again, like she had done before she was shot. The silence stretched out for a long time, becoming weighty, almost immovable, until Raven elbowed Clarke playfully in an effort to shift it. 

“Hey, you know I love you, right?” She said with an air of forced joviality. 

Clarke regarded her strangely, before she said, “I love you too, Raven.”

Then the conversation resumed like it had never stopped, until they were laughing and joking well into the night. And it wasn’t until long after Raven had returned to her own room, and she was drifting off in Shaw’s arms, that it struck her that Clarke hadn’t answered the question. She realised that her friend, someone who had sacrificed everything for her, hadn’t even been sure that Raven loved her when she did it. Clarke had done all that, and she hadn’t ever expected anything in return, not even Raven’s love or respect. The realisation rolled over Raven in waves, until she found herself sobbing into Shaw’s chest for the first time in days.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
_If they say_  
_Who cares if one more light goes out?_  
_In a sky of a million stars_  
_It flickers, flickers_  
_Who cares when someone's time runs out?_  
_If a moment is all we are_  
_We're quicker, quicker_  
_Who cares if one more light goes out?_  
_Well I do_  
**One More Light – Linkin Park**  
  
_Emori:_  
Things had been slowly making their way back to normal, although she didn’t really know what normal was supposed to be anymore.

Echo was avoiding both Clarke and Bellamy, but the former didn’t seem to be particularly bothered by it, and the latter was far too worried about Clarke to even think about anyone else. Emori had asked Echo if she was alright, and she had sworn up and down that she was, or that she would be soon, and then the topic was dropped. 

Clarke was still pretty weak, but she was back to walking around the ship, however slowly, and actually seemed to be out of her room more often in the last few days than before she was shot. Emori was pretty it sure had something to do with Murphy kicking her out of bed and dragging her down the hallways, but oddly enough, Clarke wasn’t complaining. In fact, she seemed quietly pleased that someone cared enough to force her to spend time with them, which made Emori’s heart ache for how alone she must have felt, and might still be feeling. 

Shaw and Diyoza had told them about cornering Raven and Bellamy and reading them the riot act, but it had clearly only worked on Raven, who had told Shaw about the conversation she had with Clarke while he had been hanging out with the rest of them on the bridge. 

Of course, it didn’t help that every time Bellamy crossed Clarke’s path, any happiness or calm in the atmosphere seemed to dissipate, and the tension became rife in the air between them. They would stare while the other person wasn’t looking, or refuse to meet each other’s eyes, squirming uncomfortably in an effort to not be the first to admit they couldn’t talk to the other. It was horrible, and it was incredibly awkward for everyone else. It would continue until someone stepped up to pull one of them away, effectively cutting them off from each other completely. 

She wasn’t sure she’d seen them exchange a single word since Clarke had woken up, and yet she felt they had had entire conversations in those moments between glances. Bellamy and Clarke had always been good at communicating without words, but Emori couldn’t help but think that in this situation, it was actually detrimental to them both. They needed to really _talk_ to each other, and neither of them was willing. 

Clarke was still miserable and trying to hide it, and nothing that anyone did could cheer her up for long. Emori noticed that when she thought no-one else was looking, she would get that familiar distant look in her eye, like she was slipping back to the place she was in when she tried to float herself, and it was unsettling. 

Evidently, Murphy had seen it too, because when they crawled into bed, he didn’t turn the light off straightaway, “I’m worried about Clarke.”

“Yeah, she’s trying to detach herself from everything again,” Emori agreed, and he rolled a little closer, seeking her out for comfort, legs tangling together under the covers.

“She still thinks we don’t care,” Murphy sounded defeated, turning his head to look up at the ceiling. 

“No, she knows,” Emori patted his arm, “I’m just not sure that’s enough for her anymore. I think her guilt is weighing her down too much. Maybe she needs something else to hold onto, to remind herself that she deserves to live.”

He stared pensively at the metal above them, his hand behind his head on the pillow, deep in thought, until he scrunched his nose up and groaned loudly.

“What is it?”

He peeked at her nervously out the corner of his eye, “I have a _very bad idea.”_

* * *

They were sitting with Shaw at the bridge, and he was running them through how the locks worked. 

“So, unlike the airlocks, there isn’t a code override, but there is a way you can lock the doors from the outside, you just need a master-key. You hold it up to the door and it keeps the lock secure, kinda like a magnet.”

“Where do we find one of those?” Murphy asked, just in time for Shaw to hold a small piece of metal up. 

“If you use this for anything other than what you said you’re using it for, I will hunt you down. There aren’t that many places to hide up here, and I know them all,” the words were threatening but Shaw’s tone was light, and it looked like he was supressing a smile. 

“We will bring it back the second we’re finished with it,” Emori assured him, while Murphy rolled his eyes beside her. She elbowed him. 

“Yes, we will,” he drawled, sounding bored, and Shaw clapped him on the back and held his hand out. Murphy swiped the master-key from his palm and looped his arm around Emori’s elbow as they turned and walked from the room. 

“Phase one complete,” Emori grinned. 

“If this goes wrong, remind me to say I told you so,” Murphy flicked the key between his fingers, watching it disappear and reappear like a magic trick, and Emori remembered all the nights she’d spent teaching him sleight of hand.

“This is _your plan_ ,” she pointed out. 

“And I told you it was a bad one,” Murphy kissed her temple, “It’s not my fault you actually agreed to execute it.”

She snorted just as they reached Bellamy’s room.

It only took one knock for him to answer the door, with a grumpy, “What?”

“Clarke wants to talk to you,” Murphy said. 

Bellamy’s stern expression went slack and he glanced between the two of them, as if waiting for them to produce Clarke out of thin air. 

“She’s in her room,” Emori added helpfully. 

He shrugged and gestured for them to lead the way. 

When they arrived at Clarke’s door, Murphy called out, “Hey Princess, you haven’t fallen asleep again have you?”

“I did, actually,” Clarke’s voice sailed through, and she added sarcastically, “Thanks for waking me up.”

“No problem,” Murphy pulled out the master-key and unlocked the door. 

It swung open to reveal Clarke sitting on the edge of her bed, steeling herself to stand up, one hand on her wound and the other on her mattress. Her eyes flicked up and met Emori’s first. She tried to send a silent apology her way, and Clarke looked confused for a moment before her gaze drifted to the man standing behind them, and her eyes hardened. 

“What are you doing here?” Clarke asked him, a bitter edge to her voice. 

Emori could feel Bellamy’s glare when he said, “Funny, I want to ask Murphy and Emori the same question, seeing as you clearly don’t want me anywhere near you.”

“Sorry,” Emori said, “But the weird tension was just getting too uncomfortable for the rest of us.”

“Yep,” Murphy grabbed Bellamy and shoved him through the door, making him stumble, “So you two are going to sit here in time out for a while. You can talk, or you can just continue to awkwardly avoiding looking at each other, but either way, some of that weirdness needs to be gone by the time we open the door.”

And with that, Murphy swung the door closed and swiped the master-key over the lock. Bellamy started banging on it from the inside. 

“Murphy, what the hell do you think you’re doing?! Unlock the damn door,” he growled. 

They didn’t answer him, they just sat on the floor, watching the metal shake at the pounding of his fists against it. After a good deal of complaining, Bellamy seemed to deduce that they’d left and he quietened, throwing the room on the other side into a prolonged, awkward silence. 

“Now, we wait,” Murphy said softly. 

Emori felt a knot twisting in her stomach, “We did the right thing, didn’t we?”

“They’ll be fine,” Murphy reached for her hand reassuringly, but even he didn’t look sure. Emori tried not to think about how much pain their friends were in, or the fact that they had manipulated them into confronting each other. She tried not to think about how much this was going to hurt the both of them in the short term, and focussed instead on the consequences it might have for the future – that maybe if they talked now, no matter how badly it turned out, maybe they would be okay somewhere down the line. 

They sat there, hand in hand, listening to the two short fuses that they had just lit and thrown into a room together, waiting for the inevitable sounds of an explosion. 

 

 

 

 

 

 _I'm running, catching up girl, keep your feet up, I'm straight to the vein_  
_You fall through the floors, and you take it all, and now you feel the rain_  
_Rolling down your cheeks, bleeding, dripping to your feet, keep breathing, stay with me_  
  
_Who knows where your limit, where your limit lies_  
_You're given, what you're given and now the giver must die_  
_And the women, you've forgiven, who left you behind_  
_Know your limit, where your limit, where your limit lies_  
  
_Lump in a throat, too hard to swallow_  
_I go, down cold for coming up tomorrow_  
_I will, leave tracks, the footsteps back_  
_From the attack where I trapped the love that I had_  
**Limits Lie – Jamie T**  


  
_Bellamy:_   


He stared at her. 

That was all he seemed to be able to do lately; stare at the woman he loved, unable to work up the courage to tell her how he felt, because no words felt like enough. It used to be so easy to talk to Clarke, and now it was the hardest thing in the world. It felt like trying to remember the lyrics to a song he used to know but had long since forgotten; the words suspended somewhere in a memory he no longer had access to.

She had barely looked at him since she was shot, and never with anything but ice in her gaze, and he was starting to worry that she never would again. Not that he could blame her. 

She was sitting on the edge of her bed, her hand over her abdomen, where he knew her bullet wound lay, slowly healing beneath layers of clothing and bandages, and she still wasn’t looking at him. 

He hovered with his hand still on the door handle, gripping it for support, unsure what to do. 

After a silence that dragged out for what felt like eons, he found his voice.

_“I’m sorry.”_

She flinched, like she’d been slapped, and whispered, “Don’t.”

He pushed off from the door and walked over to her, “Clarke, please, you need to hear this. I am so sorry that you felt so alone, and I’m sorry that you felt like you couldn’t talk to me about it, and I’m sorry that you spent six years waiting for me, and I’m sorry that I left you chained up, and that I put the flame in Madi, and I’m sorry–”

“Stop!” She demanded, and he froze as she shot to her feet and finally, _finally_ her eyes met his. 

He almost wished she’d continued pretending he didn’t exist, because this was too much. 

Her eyes were swirling vortexes of blue, and he felt himself tumbling into them, swept into their control. 

“I–”

 _“No._ No, you don’t get to talk,” she fumed, “You don’t get to apologise because you feel guilty, and you’re worried I might try again.”

“That’s not–”

“You don’t get to just decide to be sorry now, because you don’t know how else to handle this situation. You took my daughter, _my daughter_ , and you forced a burden of responsibility on her that she didn’t deserve. She is a _child_ , and now, because of what you did, she can never just be a child again. She will _always_ have people to lead and wars to fight and hard decisions to make. We were older than Madi when we landed on Earth, and look at what _we did?!_ We screwed up, we killed people, we _lost_ people – our decisions had consequences; horrible, _awful_ consequences, that cost us so much. I thought you saw what we went through, that you knew the tolls that leadership took, but I was wrong. Like an idiot, I assumed you would refuse to overwhelm her with that, because I thought you understood! Because I thought–” She cut herself off, chest heaving as she gasped in lungfuls of air, “And instead, you left me there, chained up, like I was a hindrance to your plan, instead of your friend who needed you.”

“Clarke–”

“No!” She was yelling now, and for one terrifying moment he almost believed she was ablaze, her golden hair haloing her head like flames; she was a star incandescent with outrage, burning up before his eyes. She stalked closer to him, and he instinctively took a step back, but she didn’t even notice, “You don’t get to look at me like that, like you pity me for being hurt by decisions that _you made_. You don’t get to say my name the way you used to, because _nothing_ is the way it used to be anymore, and that’s your fault. It’s my fault too, for leaving you behind, but I would never have done that if you hadn’t abandoned me, and you know it.”

I didn’t mean t–”

“Shut up,” she snapped, “Do you have any idea how alone I was, Bellamy, before I found Madi? I held a gun to my head in the desert and I screamed at the universe for taking everything away from me, and just as I was about to pull the trigger, I found the valley. Even after I found Madi, I was still so completely alone in a thousand different ways. I had to carry around the knowledge of everything I did before Praimfaya – _alone_. I had to survive – alone. I had to take care of Madi – _alone_. I missed you and I called you and I waited for you, and when you came back, you threw a grenade into my life and walked away like it was nothing.” 

She was trying to hold herself together; he could see it in the way her bottom lip trembled and her hands furled and unfurled, like she was trying not to reach out to him. He wanted to say something, to apologise, to explain, but she wasn’t finished, and he wasn’t going to interrupt her again. 

“You _left_ me,” and he could see it – the hurt, swirling through those blue vortexes, coiling out from somewhere behind her eyes, somewhere hidden and fractured and dismal. It was clearer than ever as she looked up at him with tears trailing silent rivers down her cheeks, just how badly he’d broken her heart, and he felt his world shattering around him all over again.

She was shuddering with rage and pain and sorrow, and her voice had become wretched and unhinged, “I waited for you for six years, and within a week, you turned your back on everything we were, like none of it meant anything to you. I trusted you, I begged you, and you betrayed me! I thought I felt alone before, but that was nothing, _nothing_ , compared to watching you walk away from me!” 

She broke down sobbing, covering her face with both her hands, and it triggered his own tears, seeing her so upset. He yearned to wrap his arms around her and never let go, but he just stood there; three feet away and unable to reach out to her across the endless chasm between them. 

“Clarke, I’m so… I’m so sorry.” He choked out, “I never meant–”

“I can’t do this, Bellamy,” she cried, liquid dripping through her fingers and splashing onto the cold metal floor, “I just can’t.”

“I did it for you,” he blurted out before he could stop himself, “All of it. Poisoning Octavia, giving Madi the flame, I did all of it for you, because I couldn’t just do nothing while you got executed. I couldn’t be the reason you died, not again.”

Her hands dropped until they were fists at her sides and she scowled up at him, “How does that make it better? Because now Madi’s hard life is my fault too – I’m the reason you hurt her. All because you couldn’t live with your guilt again.”

“No, that’s not it, Clarke!”

“Then what the hell is it, Bellamy?!” She shouted, “Because I’m having a hard time seeing any other–”

 _“I love you!”_ He yelled, and her mouth closed so hard he heard it. 

However, her anger wasn’t subsiding; it was just morphing from a raging inferno to an ice-cold star. Her eyes narrowed as she glared at him with something beyond malice, her pupils dark. Clarke, a woman made of soft curves and blue eyes, was suddenly all hard lines and sharp edges, and her eyes had become black holes from which there was no escape. 

His heart jumped into his throat and he realised that things might truly be ruined between them. 

“Don’t. You. Dare.” She hissed, “Don’t you dare tell me you love me, not after everything. Do you have any _idea_ how much I loved you? I would have killed for you, I would have _died_ for you. Up until the moment I realised you wouldn’t do the same for me. You can’t tell me you love me after you abandoned me, after you left me behind. Don’t you _dare_ , Bellamy.”

“Clarke, please, I’m sorry, I…” He beseeched. 

_“Get out,”_ she whispered, and her eyes dropped to the ground, anger gone, replaced with that familiar air of cold detachment he was frightened of. 

“Clarke,” he breathed, and suddenly he was exactly where he was all those years ago, outside camp and begging her to stay. He was watching her turn her back and leave, feeling the absence of her at his side like the loss of a limb. He was watching her pull away, but unlike then, he didn’t know if this time he was ever going to get her back again. 

“Get the hell out, Bellamy,” she was staring intently at his shoes, her body rigid and her expression unfeeling, and he tried to swallow around the lump in his throat.

He tried the door handle, expecting it to be locked, but when it turned smoothly, he realised he should have known better – of course Murphy would be out there, listening, making sure Clarke was okay. Even if Clarke hated him, at least she had Murphy looking out for her. 

He stepped out into the hallway, only to come face to face with the man himself.

Murphy shook his head sympathetically, “Just give her some time.”

He slumped against the wall, wringing his hands, “She’s spent so much time thinking I don’t care, and I can’t… I don’t know how to make it better.”

“You _be_ better,” Murphy said resolutely, “Be the person she knows you are. She loves you, Bellamy. She just doesn’t trust you right now. You’ve got to give her some time.”

“Whether you like it or not, this was a good thing,” Emori said, appearing at his elbow, “She hasn’t said a word to you since she woke up, and now she can yell at you. It’s okay.”

“Nothing is okay,” he said, before clenching his teeth, trying to force away the memory of Clarke saying that to him. He had realised back then, however subconsciously, that she might love him back. She was willing to sacrifice the fate of the human race because she couldn’t shoot him, and he had found hope, sitting beside her in that rover, as he tried to make her smile, that it was because she felt the same way he did. He had been foolish enough to believe they would have time to work it out on the Ring, and then he’d lost her without ever having said it. 

And now he’d said it, and she didn’t want to hear it. 

He picked his weary heart up off the floor and moved slowly to his own room. 

Time. 

That was always the problem, wasn’t it?

 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


 

 _I have no one to turn to_  
_The people have left me_  
_I'm dead to my family_  
  
_It's your heart that I'll call_  
_I am alive and here after all_  
_I am alive_  
_That's my consolation prize_  
  
_There are no bruises to cover_  
_The bleeding's internal_  
_I'm told to be quiet so_  
_No one knows I'm dying_  
**Consolation Prize – Montaigne**  
  
_Clarke:_  
  


The second Bellamy left, she sank to the floor and pressed her face against the cold metal, trying to cool off the fire in her chest. 

Every time she cried, she thought she had finally run out of tears, and every time, she was wrong. Today had been no different. She thought she could make it through a single morning without breaking down, and then Bellamy had stumbled through the doorway and dashed those hopes faster than she thought possible. 

At some point, Murphy and Emori came in and peeled her off the floor, guiding her back into bed and tucking her in. They exchanged worried glances over her head and brought her glasses of water and food, but she was shutting down again. 

She had taken herself by surprise when she yelled at Bellamy, and she was shocked to find that she actually felt a little better, once the tears had subsided. Like the pressure had been removed somewhat now that he knew how she felt.

The hard part was trying to ignore the sound of him yelling, _“I love you!”_ in that unhinged tone she'd only heard once before, when he was yelling, _"You left me"_ all those years ago. It was playing over and over and over in her head, refusing to let up. She didn’t want to believe it, but she knew it was true. He loved her. 

And she loved him. 

So why did it have to be so hard?

Why did it hurt so much?

As she slipped into unconsciousness, it just kept playing, a record on a loop and drowning out everything else.

* * *

_She was back in Praimfaya, the wave of radiation on her heels, burning through her with a heat that felt like it was boiling her blood in her veins._

_She was waking up, covered in burns and coughing up black blood onto the remains of the lab._

_She was talking to Bellamy after Mount Weather._

_She was walking away, leaving her heart behind._

_They were screaming at each other, and he thrust it back in her face, taunting her with the heart he didn't know he still held._

_He was forgiving her for leaving._

_He was writing her name on a list._

_He was disappearing in a rocket while fire consumed her._

_He was emerging through the headlights like a spectre, and maybe none of it was real, maybe he was never coming back._

_He was scooping her into his arms._

_He was walking away, leaving her chained while she screamed for him to come back._

_She was running through dark hallways with cold metal walls, darting left and right, trying to find a way out, but it was a maze and she was lost and endlessly trapped. Then the walls started closing in behind her, and no matter how fast she ran, they were always at her heels, threatening to crush her. Writing started to appear on the floor in front of her, telling her she was wrong, she was broken, she was never going to make it out alive. She felt the air burning in her lungs as her legs started to give in, and then she suddenly found herself in a familiar corridor and she tripped over something and went flying, sprawling across the floor._

_She was in front of the airlock door, her own dead body floating just outside the glass, hair floating around her head, her expression peaceful. She didn’t know why she looked so serene in death, because her own reflection was staring back at her and she looked wild with fear._

_She looked up, trying to find what she’d fallen over, and when she saw it she wailed, because it was Madi, dressed in Commander’s robes, her eyes glassy and unseeing, her throat slit, blood pooled beneath her. Clarke dropped to her knees beside her, checking for a pulse, but she knew she wouldn’t find one. Madi’s skin was cold, and Clarke sobbed into her shoulder, unable to bring her back._

_**“Your fault,”** Madi said, but her lips weren’t moving, and the words were coming from all around her. _

_**“Your fault, Clarke,”** Bellamy’s voice reverberated through the room, adding to Madi’s like some kind of twisted harmony._

_**“Everyone you love dies,”** Lexa’s voice joined in._

_**“It’s all your fault,”** Clarke’s own voice echoed through her head. _

_Abby’s voice whispered, **“Every choice you make is wrong. Everything you do is wrong.”**_

_**“You pushed everyone away and now you’re all alone,”** Wells uttered, **“It’s what you deserve.”**_

_**“You’re as bad as McCreary,”** Raven sneered._

_**“You couldn’t even keep a hundred people alive,”** that was her father’s voice, **“My daughter the failure.”**_

_**“I should have killed you when I had the chance,”** Echo hissed._

_**“Why should we trust you to take care of Jordan when you couldn’t even protect your own daughter?”** Monty sung wickedly. _

_**“You let her down,”** Harper agreed. _

_**“You’re a murderer,”** Finn accused, **“And I would know.”**_

_**“All you do is ruin people’s lives!”** Jasper yelled, and it hurt her ears, but all it did was make the other voices increase in volume to match it, until they were crashing around her in an intemperate symphony of malevolence, smothering her pleading. _

_The walls began to close in on all sides, and the room got darker and darker and darker as melodies of hatred and disgust wove between strains of disapproval and disappointment, tumbling through the air until there was none left to breathe._

_**“…your fault...”** _

_**“…failure...”** _

_**“…I should have killed you…”** _

_**“…murderer…”** _

_**“…you let her down…”** _

_**“…everyone you love dies…”** _

_**“…your fault…”** _

_**“…ruin people’s lives…”** _

_**“…as bad as McCreary…”** _

_**“…it’s what you deserve…”** _

_**“…murderer…”** _

_The volume just kept climbing, and the voices started to rise and lower in pitch, becoming almost demonic; screaming and shrieking and threatening to burst her eardrums with the sheer force of the noise._

_**“…your fault…”** _

_**“…my daughter the failure…”** _

_**“…everything you do is wrong…”** _

_**“…it’s what you deserve…”** _

_**“…murderer…”** _

_**“…couldn’t even protect your own daughter…”** _

_**“…failure…”** _

_**“…everyone you love dies…”** _

_**“…your fault…”** _

_**“…now you’re all alone...”** _

_**“…murderer…”** _

_**“…failure…”** _

_**“…your fault…”** _

_**“Murderer.”** _

_**“Failure.”** _

_**“Your fault.”** _

_**“Murderer!”** _

_**“Failure!”** _

_**“Your fault!”** _

_**“MURDERER!”** _

_**“FAILURE!”** _

_**“YOUR FAULT!”** _

* * *

Clarke woke with a scream in her throat and not enough air in her lungs. She gasped, sweating against her sheets, panic rolling over her as she tried to find something, anything, to ground herself. 

She gripped at the pillow beneath her head, clawing at it to try and bring herself back to the present, but her dream was still playing through her mind, a song stuck in her head, and she couldn’t turn it off. 

It made it impossible to breathe, or relax, or go back to sleep, and she panted raggedly, trying to think of something to help her calm down. Something rustled to her left and she flinched, waiting for another voice to torment her, but there was nothing there. 

She was alone.

She checked the time and realised that everyone else would be asleep. She couldn’t wake anyone up just because she had a bad dream: that wouldn’t be fair. She’d already taken up enough of their worry. It was just a dream.

She sat up slowly, wincing at the pain below her stomach. Sweat dripped off her eyebrows and her black pyjamas were clinging to her from the moisture. She hauled her blanket off her lower half, exposing it to the cold air of the ship. She shivered and goose bumps danced across her skin, yet somehow, she still felt too hot. 

Clarke swung her legs over the side of her bed and tested them against the floor gingerly – the metal was cold, but bearable, and she slowly put her weight down. When she was fully standing, she took a wobbly step away from her bed.

She slowly but surely made it to the door of her room, and from there she just paced aimlessly, trying to get her heartrate under control, and her breathing back to normal. 

She couldn’t quite work out how it happened, but she found herself standing over Madi’s cryo pod, staring down at the ice that fogged up the glass, obscuring her from view. She was trying to ignore the aching in her abdomen, and wishing that she could hold Madi in her arms without waking her up, or even just see her face more clearly. 

“I’m so sorry, Madi,” she placed her palm against the glass, “I’m… I wish you’d never found me. Maybe then you might have lived a happier life, a _whole_ life, without… I’m so sorry.”

_“…your fault…”_

She recoiled at the whispered words, but when she looked around, nothing had changed; there was no movement, not even the flicker of a light. It was still and silent. 

She was alone. 

She took a shaking breath and tried to calm down. She was just amped up from her dream – there were no spirits haunting her, or voices calling out in the night. She was safe. 

“What are you doing down here?” Echo’s voice snapped through the room, and Clarke jumped out of her skin and her heart skipped four or five beats before it started up again.

She ran a hand through her tangled hair, “I came to see my daughter.”

Echo regarded her suspiciously, “When everyone else is asleep?”

“I… couldn’t sleep,” Clarke dropped her gaze back to Madi’s pod, “And I missed her.”

“You could wake her up,” Echo pointed out. 

Clarke balked, “Absolutely not.”

“Fine,” Echo crossed her arms. 

“What are _you_ doing down here?” 

“One person stays on the bridge at all times, monitoring activity from the planet below, which you would know if you talked to Bellamy,” she said bitterly, adding, “It’s my shift.”

“Right,” Clarke muttered. 

“Why haven’t you talked to him?” Echo asked, stepping closer. 

“I did. I yelled at him.”

A flash of annoyance crossed Echo’s face, “Why?”

Clarke just looked at her, not answering. 

“He’s sorry,” Echo rolled her eyes, “Not that he should be. You’re the one who left him behind, to _die.”_

Clarke continued to stare at her, refusing to rise to the bait. 

“He _loves_ you,” Echo said, like she was questioning Clarke’s judgement, and the aloofness with which she said it triggered something in her: something primal. She had been quiet when Murphy had said it, and Raven, and even Bellamy himself, but Echo in her total indifference for Clarke’s feelings was enough to tip her over the edge.

“Well maybe that’s not enough!” Clarke slammed her fist against the wall beside her head.

“Bellamy loves you, and it isn’t _enough?”_ Echo asked incredulously. 

“Love isn’t just a bandage you can put over a wound and make it better, Echo! Just because you love someone doesn’t mean you can fix what you _broke!_ Love doesn’t _fix_ anything! If you can love someone and still cause them pain, maybe you _shouldn’t!_ Maybe you should just _stop!”_ She could feel herself becoming hysterical again, and she closed her eyes and focussed on her rapidly beating heart. 

“But you _can’t_ stop,” Echo realised, “Can you? And that’s why you won’t talk to him: because you’re scared you’ll tell him.”

Clarke pressed her palms against her eyes, trying to put herself back on the right axis, even as she felt the world spin in and out of focus.

_“…I should have killed you when I had the chance…”_

She shuddered and tried to push the voice away, _it’s not real, its not real, it’s not real._

But it was all too much, and the walls felt too close, and she was too hot; there was fire at her fingertips and a melody of cruelty burning in her ears, and she couldn’t carry her own weight anymore. 

_“…everyone you love dies…”_

She fell back against the wall and slid down it, her eyes squeezed shut and her arms wrapped around herself, wordlessly begging the pain to stop. 

_“…failure…”_

She pulled her knees up to her chest and pressed her forehead against them, but that didn’t stop her whole body from trembling uncontrollably.

_“…your fault…”_

Darkness was in her periphery and she waited for it to snatch her away and never let her see the light again, sinking slowly into the inky blackness that unconsciousness offered, but before she could, something wrenched her back.

  
  
  
  


  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
_I remember someone old once said to me_  
_That lies will lock you up with truth the only key_  
_I was comfortable and warm inside my shell_  
_And couldn't see this place could soon become my hell_  
_So is it better to tell and hurt or lie to save their face?_  
_Well, my guess the answer is don't do it in the first place_  
_I know, I'm not deserving of your trust from you right now_  
_But if by chance you change your mind_  
_You know I will not let you down_  
_'Cause we were the special two and will be again_  
  
_And we will only need each other, we'll bleed together_  
_Our hands would not be taught to hold another's_  
_'Cause we're the special two_  
_And we can only see each other, we'll breathe together_  
_These arms will not be taught to need another's_  
_We're the special two…_  
**The Special Two – Missy Higgins (1 of 2)**  
  
_Bellamy:_  
  


Since his argument with Clarke, Bellamy had stopped spending all his time in his room, and actually started engaging in the discussion about the planet below again. Raven and Diyoza were both privately relieved to have a buffer other than Shaw between them, and Shaw was relieved to have a break from being a buffer. For the most part, things had been shifting back to how they’d been before. 

He and Clarke were still avoiding each other, and Echo was angrily staring Clarke every opportunity she got, but other than that, the levels of anxiety and animosity on the ship had decreased dramatically. 

That evening, after yet another argument about terrain was resolved, Bellamy was sitting on the bridge, staring forlornly out the window down at the planet below; like he used to on the Ring. Raven had tried to talking to him for a while, but eventually she just left him to his thoughts. 

He wasn’t moping though, or at least not in the way his friends though. He was trying to work out the best way to approach Clarke again, and coming up empty. 

He watched the planet turning slowly below, tiredness seeping through to his bones but still unable to sleep for longer than a few minutes at a time. 

“Goddammit Monty, why couldn’t you have stayed?” He scrubbed his hands over his face, “We _need_ you. We need _Harper_. You would know what to do.”

“I might be able to help with that,” Jordan appeared in the doorway, looking sheepish. 

Bellamy’s surprise temporarily swept thoughts of sleep away and he straightened a little, “Help with _what?”_

“Sorry, I wasn’t eavesdropping. Well, actually, technically, I _was_ eavesdropping, but I didn’t mean to be, I just sort of happened to come up here right as you started talking, and then I didn’t want to interrupt, but now I see that I’ve just made it a bit weird–”

“Jordan,” Bellamy prompted. 

“–right, yes, sorry. Um, you said you wanted to know what advice my parents would give, and I like to think that I paid enough attention to them to know what they’d say.”

“You’re offering me advice?” He blew out his cheeks and released a slow breath, “Alright then kid, how am I supposed to be there for someone who wants nothing to do with me?”

“You mean _Clarke?_ I’d give her space. She's very intimidating when she wants to be - she scares me,” Jordan said, the barest hint of a joke in his voice, and Bellamy snorted. 

“She has that effect,” he agreed, feeling a pang in his chest. It kept happening lately – everything he said or did or thought was somehow connected to a past memory of Clarke – he was swimming in them, barely keeping his head above the water as he looked for the shore. But Clarke had always been the shore he reached for when he was drowning, and now she was the reason water was filling his lungs. 

“Look, if this is about Clarke… I saw something the other day that might be helpful,” Jordan said, and poked at the control panel. The main screen on the bridge lit up, and a list appeared. He scrolled down until he reached one labelled:

**Relationships**

Monty appeared on the screen, and he looked to be somewhere in his thirties or forties, but he was beaming at the camera like he couldn’t feel the years at all. 

_“Hey son,”_ he waved, _“Your mother is asleep downstairs, and you’re running around my algae farm - knocking things over no doubt - so I thought I’d take this brief moment of quiet to talk to you about love. I’m not talking about the birds and the bees; I’m sure I’ll give you that talk soon, or maybe I’ll wake Murphy up and make him do it, just rip off the band-aid quickly… on second thoughts that’s a terrible idea, scratch that. Anyway, I don’t mean **that** talk; I want to talk to you about what happens when you fall in love with someone, which I hope you will one day.”_

His smile became smaller, more private, and it was abundantly clear that he was thinking about Harper. 

He paused, collecting himself.

_“Nothing happens.”_

He stared right down the lens. 

_“When you fall in love, all that happens is you love another person. Nothing else. The important part is what you do with that love. Love isn’t an action, it’s just the feeling behind it, like…”_ Monty drew his brows together, trying to explain it properly, _“Love is just background music to the stuff you’re actually doing. It means nothing if your actions don’t match the melody. Clarke knows that, I think. She doesn’t talk about it a lot, but she does the right thing, all the time, to save the people she loves. The only time I’ve seen her do the opposite was when Bellamy put the chip in Madi, which I admit, I didn’t get at first, but… holding you in my arms, I understood. You’re around the same age as Madi now, and if someone tried to put the flame in you, I would throw pacifism out the window. Clarke knows the costs of loving people – she’s lost so many and so much – but she loves us anyway, and she takes care of us. She doesn’t say it, but she doesn’t have to, because we know. And when it comes to Bellamy, Clarke would do anything, because she loves him more than anyone else. Like I said, the love is just background music, but Clarke’s actions speak for themselves; she let Mount Weather bomb a village to keep him safe, she put herself in the firing line for him all the time, and she stayed in Praimfaya to keep him safe. Even though they weren’t exactly talking when they went into cryo, Harper and I have decided that we’re waking the two of them first. Because no matter what, Clarke and Bellamy will end up forgiving each other and making decisions together. It's the same with your mother and me. That’s what you do when you love someone: you sacrifice and you compromise and you stick by the person, and you do it for them, not just for yourself. It’s why I told Harper that she should go into cryo last week… and it’s also why she said no. Just loving someone isn’t enough, you have to **prove it to them** , every day.”_

A bleary-eyed Harper stepped into view and he kissed her on the cheek as he shut off the camera. 

“He always was the smartest person I knew,” Bellamy ran a hand through his hair and said to the screen, “Still schooling me from beyond the grave, Monty, that’s cold.”

Jordan chuckled, “He said that you used to say stuff about how clever he was, but that you never believed it about yourself. He always said that you were smarter than you gave yourself credit for.”

“Monty would,” Bellamy looked over at Jordan, at the child that his friends raised, and he knew that they had done everything they could to raise him right. He ducked his head to hide his smile, “He was a good man, your father. And your mother was one of the bravest people I ever met. Your parents were good people, Jordan, the _best_ , and the world is a worse place without them in it.”

Jordan surveyed him carefully, “Dad said the same about you and Clarke. Because he knew he could never make the hard decisions like the two of you did, and he said the world needed people like _you_ to keep it going. He said that you were a good man and that Clarke was brave…”

Bellamy caught the unsure look on Jordan’s face and prompted him to continue, _“…but?”_

“But the things you did to save the human race, and each other, they took a toll on you, both of you, one that he said he could never really understand. That you had to be in it together, because nobody else would ever match up.”

“I can’t believe he’s match-making from the afterlife,” Bellamy joked.

“I can,” Murphy said, stepping into the room. Unlike Jordan, he didn’t try to explain himself for eavesdropping, he just sat down in the captain’s chair and kicked his legs up on the control panel. “For what it’s worth, he’s right. Clarke needs someone who understands what she’s going through, and the rest of us can be there for her, but we can’t be what she needs.”

“She doesn’t want me, Murphy, you saw the evidence of that yourself,” he pointed out.

“I never said she _wanted_ you, genius, I said she _needed_ you,” he rolled his eyes, “Those two things aren’t mutually exclusive.”

“You’re the one who said she needs time,” Bellamy remarked. 

“True, and I’m not telling you to go running to her right now, I’m saying that when she admits that she needs you, you should be there. You and I know better than anyone that forgiveness isn’t about what people deserve, and Clarke has forgiven us for everything. The least we can do is forgive her back.”

“I do, _of course_ I do, I _have_ ,” he stammered. 

“Does she know that?” Murphy quirked an eyebrow at him.

He frowned, “She’s not looking for my forgiveness.”

“No, she’s not _asking_ for your forgiveness. That doesn’t me she doesn’t need it. She blames herself for everything; that’s why she tried to float herself, because she genuinely thinks we’d be better off without her here. When she yelled at you, she was angry with you, but she’s angrier at herself. And I think you know that, and you’re scared that if you get through to her and tell her how you feel, that it _still won’t be enough:_ that she’ll still find a way to leave us.”

He opened his mouth to tell Murphy that he was wrong, but they both knew he wasn’t and when he looked at him, he could see the haunted look in his friend’s eyes. It was a sadness that he’d been trying to hide, but Bellamy knew him too well, and he knew what Murphy looked like disconsolate. It occurred to him then that Murphy had been practically holding all of them together, especially him and Clarke, all while battling with his own internal struggles. Bellamy might have been who Clarke addressed the suicide video to, but Murphy had been the one who shot her, and that couldn’t be an easy truth to reconcile. 

He stepped forward and yanked him up to crush him in a bear hug. 

Murphy froze for barely a second before he reciprocated, and the two of them clung to each other like their lives depended on it, brothers holding each other up against the weight of all they’d done. 

After a beat, there was a polite cough, and they remembered that Jordan was still standing there, rocking on his heels. Murphy held out an arm.

“Get in here too, you little shit,” he offered, and Jordan shuffled forward and joined them in their family hug. 

When Bellamy went to bed that night, he felt more at home than he had done since they left the Ring, and he thought that maybe, just maybe, things might actually work out in their favour.

* * *

He had been teetering on the precipice of asleep and awake, and for the first time in days, actually thought he might get more than two hours sleep, when he was rudely awakened by Echo practically kicking his door down and yanking the pillow out from under his head.

“Ow, what the fuck?!” He growled, rubbing the back of his head where it had hit the wall as she turned on the light and a white glow flooded the room. 

“You need to get down to cryo, now,” Echo said urgently. 

“Echo, do you have any idea what time it is?” He squinted up at her.

“Clarke’s freaking out and I have no idea what to do. Shaw’s with her, but he told me to get you,” Echo gripped at his arm, her nails digging into his skin, “Get the hell up, _now!”_

 

 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


 

 _I feel so scared and underprepared_  
_When I'm next to you_  
_I feel so cold and overexposed_  
_When I'm next to you_  
_I feel so weak, I can hardly speak_  
_When I'm next to you_  
_I feel so scared and underprepared_  
_When I'm next to you_  
  
_Cause' it feels so frightening_  
_My chest starts tightening_  
_Hits me like a bolt of lightning_  
_No, I've tried, I can't fight it off_  
_I've started shaking_  
_With every move I'm making_  
_And every breath I'm taking_  
_And now I'm breaking down in your arms_  
**Next To You – Rust & Bone**  
  
_Clarke:_  
  


She could dimly hear voices arguing above her, and then footsteps disappearing down the corridor. 

A hand landed on her shoulder and she flinched, tucking further into herself, and the hand disappeared. 

Clarke couldn’t breathe, she couldn’t move, she couldn’t see – everything was too close and too far away and too hard and too soft and pieces of her were scattered haphazardly in the panic and she couldn’t find her bearings. 

She was a star becoming a black hole; collapsing in on herself until there was nothing left; no light, no fire, no life, just the never-ending void of oblivion. 

Then, all of a sudden, the light crept back in.

There were two large hands pushing her gently until she was sitting up straight, and a voice in her ears, soft but getting louder, or maybe it just sounded louder because the ghosts in her head were fading away. He was cupping her cheeks and stroking her hair back from her face, saying something to her that she couldn’t quite catch and she tried to pull herself back into the present. 

“…stay with me. Come on, Clarke, _breathe_ , I’m right here, stay with me, deep breath Clarke, _please_ , come on, take a deep breath.” He tilted her head back a little more and she tried to stop heaving in panicked bursts of oxygen, attempting to slow it down, to breathe carefully. She gripped at his forearms for support and heard him make a small noise of relief, “That’s it Clarke, you’re okay, you’re alright, just breathe.”

She opened her eyes to find Bellamy’s face inches from her own, eyes boring into hers with an intensity she hadn’t seen since he first rescued her from Diyoza. Echo was lingering uneasily over his shoulder, looking concerned, and Clarke realised that she must have run to get him. Shaw was there too, glaring daggers at Echo, and the knowledge that he hadn’t been there before pressed a little on her mind, but she couldn’t focus on it. She shifted her attention back to the man in front of her, still lightly brushing her temples with his fingertips. 

“Hey, you’re okay, just _breathe_ , deep breaths, _I’m right here_ , you’re okay,” he murmured, and she started shaking her head frantically. 

“No, I’m not,” she whimpered, anxiety rising again, “I’m _not okay_ , Bellamy, I’m not okay, _I’m not–”_

 _“Breathe,”_ he cut her off, “C’mon Clarke, keep breathing, in and out, you’re alright.”

 _“I’m not, I’m not, I’m not,”_ she sobbed, and he seemed to realise he wasn’t going to make any headway while she was curled up against the wall next to her daughter’s cryo pod. So he lifted her into his arms and carried her back to her room, all while she pressed her face into his shoulder, repeating, _“I’m not, I’m not, I’m not.”_

When he laid her down on her bed, she clung to him, refusing to let go, and he bent awkwardly over her, his legs pressed uncomfortably against the metal bedframe.

“I know,” he sighed, _“I know_ , Clarke, and I’m sorry, I’m _so_ sorry, but I’m not going anywhere, okay? Not anymore. I’m right here. You’re going to be okay. You just need to breathe.”

 _“I can’t,”_ she tried to cover her face with her hands, and he pulled them away gently. 

He looked like he was about to say something, and she waited for it, frowning up at him even as her lungs continued to protest at her. Instead, he pulled her covers aside and climbed into bed next to her, enfolding her in his arms. A small part of her tried to protest but she didn’t let it; she wanted to stay in the circle of his arms forever, with her head on his chest, letting their mingling heartbeats drown out the ghosts clinging to her mind. 

“I got you. I’m _right here_ , Clarke, you’re gonna be okay. _I got you,”_ he started stroking up and down her back, and she shifted further up so that she could tuck her nose into the crook of his neck and pretend that the rest of the world didn’t exist. Serenity was slowly starting to wash over her, and she felt the fear fading away. Eventually, she felt almost back to normal, and she dreaded the inevitability of him leaving, of him realising that she wasn’t in trouble anymore, that he didn’t need to be there. 

But he stayed. 

Long after the panic subsided and sleep began to creep in, he stayed. 

In fact, he stayed all night. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


_What a strange being you are, God knows where I'd be_  
_If you hadn't found me, sitting all alone in the dark_  
_A dumb screenshot of youth_  
_Watch how a cold broken teen_  
_Will desperately lean upon a superglued human of proof_  
  
_What the hell would I be without you?_  
_Brave face talk so lightly, hide the truth_  
  
_Cause I'm sick of losing soulmates_  
_So where do we begin?_  
_I can finally see, you're as fucked up as me_  
_So how do we win?_  
_Yeah, I'm sick of losing soulmates_  
_Won't be alone again_  
_I can finally see, you're as fucked up as me_  
_So how do we win?_  
**Sick of Losing Soulmates – Dodie**  
  
_Bellamy:_  
  


Bellamy woke up with in Clarke’s room, with the woman herself curled around him, her face still tucked into his neck and her breath tickling through the hair he’d let get far too long. 

Initially, he thought he was dreaming, because there was no possible situation in which he would end up with Clarke in his arms, not after all they’d been through. But here they were. She was still dozing peacefully, and he had just woken from the best night of sleep he’d had in weeks, and it was slowly sinking in that he wasn’t imagining it, when the memories of how they got there flooded in.

* * *

_Clarke was curled up on the floor, completely unresponsive, rocking back and forth with her chin on her chest and her knees pulled tight against her, her back hitting the wall with every tilt of her shaking figure._

_Shaw was crouching next to her, looking completely helpless._

_“Shit, what happened?” Bellamy dropped to his knees on her other side, looking to Shaw for answers._

_“I don’t know. I got up to get something to eat and I heard yelling, but by the time I got down here, she was already like this.” He stood up, directing his next statement at Echo with a dangerous edge in his tone, “You’ll have to ask **her;** she was here.”_

_Bellamy shook his head, “Later. Right now we need to get her to breathe, because if she keeps doing what she’s doing, she could lose consciousness, or rupture her stitches.”_

_“Good luck man, she wouldn’t even let me **touch** her.”_

_Bellamy leaned right against Clarke’s ear, “Hey, Clarke, I’m right here, you’re gonna be okay, you just gotta stay with me, okay?”_

_He pried her arms from around her shins and carefully pushed her shoulders back until she was leaning against the metal, but her eyes were still scrunched closed and she was still panting frantically. He cupped her face with his hands._

_“You’re not alone, Clarke. You’re not alone, I’m right here. I promise, **I’m right here**. You just have to stay with me. Come on, Clarke, breathe, I’m right here, stay with me, deep breath Clarke, please, come on, just slow it down, take a deep breath.” He tilted her head back so that her airways were clearer and he could see her chest moving a little less rapidly. _

_Her hands darted up, wrapping around his wrists and holding them tight, and he brushed the hair from her face, a strangled noise escaping his throat. He thought for a second he wasn’t going to get through to her, but she was gripping at him for support and her breathing was slowing, “That’s it Clarke, you’re okay, you’re alright, just **breathe.”**_

_He kept repeating it, because it seemed to be helping, although he wasn’t sure if it was the instructions or the sound of his voice that was grounding her, until her eyes flew open and met his. Then he was certain; she was anchoring herself to **him**. He stroked the sides of her face, “Hey, you’re okay, just breathe, deep breaths, I’m right here, you’re okay.” _

_She started shaking her head in a frenzy._

_“No, I’m not,” she whimpered, and her face crumpled as her lungs started stuttering again, “I’m **not** okay, Bellamy, I’m not okay, **I’m not–”**_

_**“Breathe,”** he cut her off, “C’mon Clarke, keep breathing, in and out, you’re alright.”_

_But she was inconsolable, and he realised that it couldn’t be helping to be on the floor beside the cryogenically frozen body of her sleeping daughter, so he lifted her up, and she barely seemed to register it; she just kept mumbling, **“I’m not,”** into his shirt. _

_He carried her to her room and she clung to him like a lifeline._

_She admitted that she couldn’t calm down, that she couldn’t breathe, and he kept stroking her hair and leaning against the bed until he just gave in and crawled under the covers with her. She rolled into his side like she belonged there, and he trailed his fingers soothingly up and down her spine. Her head was over his heart, and she was scrunching and releasing his shirt beneath her fingers, but he didn’t even think she knew she was doing it._

_He murmured to her as she pressed her face into his neck and her breathing evened out, and he continued talking even after she’d fallen asleep, like he had when she was unconscious in the med bay. He talked like it was holding her together. Maybe it was holding him together too._

_He talked until he drifted off as well, her name the last thing that slipped off his lips before he sunk into a heavy, dreamless sleep._

* * *

He stared down at her, and he wondered if things would ever go back to the way they used to be, when they trusted each other, when they loved each other without question. 

It was ironic – back then, they’d never admitted to their feelings, somehow still remaining oblivious to the other’s reciprocation, and he’d never questioned their ability to work together; perfectly in sync. Yet now, when they both knew just how long and how deeply they loved each other, they couldn’t seem to find a rhythm. Their orbits were off, and it was affecting not just them, but their galaxy of friends, disrupting the tides and the constellations, and he felt guilty at the toll it was taking on them all. 

He wished he could pull a lever and rewind the events that had torn them apart. He wished he could go back and tell her that she was his family too, that he had poisoned his sister for her, that the only reason he was giving Madi the flame was to save her. He wished he had gone back and unchained her, that they had run away, that he hadn’t made her feel like she had no-one left. He wished that his love was enough to keep her alive. 

But mostly, he wished that this moment would never end, that he could live in this space forever, with Clarke in his arms, more at peace in sleep than he’d ever seen her awake, on their way to normalcy again. 

 

 

 

  
  
  
  
  
  


 

 _I step outside my mind's eyes for a minute_  
_And I look over me like a doctor looking for disease_  
_Or something that could ease the pain_  
_nothing cures the hurt you bring on by yourself_  
_Just remembering, just remembering how we were_  
  
_And we would only need each other, we'd bleed together_  
_These hands would not be taught to hold another's_  
_We were the special two_  
_And we could only see each other, we'd bleed together_  
_These arms would not be taught to need another's_  
_'Cause we're the special two…_  
**The Special Two – Missy Higgins (2 of 2)**  
  
_Clarke:_  
  


She woke up to his fingers trailing patterns across her shoulders, featherlight and reverent in their movement. His chest was rising and falling underneath her, and his heart beat in time with hers, and she wished she could hold onto this moment forever. 

In that moment, she forgave him, like she always knew she would. 

The fact that he stayed meant that he forgave her too, that he wasn’t going to leave her behind again. 

She was still afraid, but now she felt the familiar tug of affection she had always felt around Bellamy, the magnet drawing them together that she had been ignoring since he walked away, that had now returned with a vengeance. 

She wanted to stay in his orbit for the rest of her life, even if they could never make it work, even if he told her he loved her platonically, she thought that perhaps she could live with it. Until she shifted slightly and he instinctively tightened his arms around her reassuringly, his lips dropping to her temple. Then all thoughts of compromise slipped out of her head because she **wanted him** more than she'd ever desired anyone in her life. It sent her spinning out in surprise, her mind whirring with all the implications she'd spent years shying away from.

She clung to him a little tighter as she regained her bearings, and he stilled. 

The moment passed.

The night was over.

It hadn't fixed everything.

They were still broken.

And yet–

 _“Please don’t go,”_ whispered desperately into his skin. 

He relaxed slightly, pulling her, if possible, even closer, “I told you, I’m not going anywhere, Clarke. _I promise.”_

It felt too impossible to be real. 

Because she’d imagined it and drawn it and dreamt about it.

Because she didn’t think she would ever deserve a moment like this. 

Yet there they were, in each other’s arms, like it was all that mattered.

Time slowed down around them.

Finally, for the briefest of moments, the universe let them breathe.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**_In the morning,_ **  
**_When you wake up_ **  
**_Daytime fades up_ **  
**_And your make up runs,_ **  
**_Just hold on_ **

  
Monty was right – love wasn’t what changed things – it was what they _did_ that made them better.

Bellamy nursed Clarke back to health, and he held her when she broke down. He told her stories and she told him her own in return. He went to her for advice, and she gave it willingly, that old half-smile returning to her face with every new interaction.

Clarke wasn’t magically free of her isolation, or the constant pangs of panic and hopelessness, but whenever she felt that way now, she reached for Bellamy with shaking hands and he sung praise into her ears. 

After days of curling up together to sleep, Clarke finally worked up the courage to say what she needed to. 

He was carding his hands through her hair, and she pressed her chin into his sternum so she could look up at him. As the morning crept in and the ship began to wake up, the competing melodies of their friends and machines and metal creeping under the door, Clarke whispered the words that felt so loud against her lips. 

_“I’m sorry.”_

And she knew that he knew what she meant, because his concerned expression cleared and he sat up, bringing her with him until she was in his lap and he was looking up into her eyes. 

“I’m sorry too,” he murmured.

They pressed their foreheads together, and as their eyes fell closed, he intertwined their fingers. 

To anyone else, it might have felt like nothing – an insignificant word thrown around far too easily – but to them, it was everything. 

To them, it was the beginning of a new chapter.  
  
  
  


  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**_It sounds tacky,_ **  
**_But I'm hopeful_ **  
**_There's a reason_ **  
**_That the world turns round,_ **  
**_Through silent sound_ **  
**_Set the dark on fire_ **  
**_Set the dark on fire_ **  
**_Set the dark on fire_ **  
**_Now_ **

  
Bellamy wasn’t the only one making an effort to help her readjust.

Murphy was constantly dragging her around the ship to spend time with Emori, Shaw and Diyoza, who seemed to have formed their own little side-crew among their friends. 

Whenever Jordan noticed her dissociating, he suggested taking a trip down to the algae farm and watching videos together, and she frequently took him up on it. He seemed to think of her as the stern aunt and Emori as the fun one, but Clarke didn't mind. She counted herself lucky to feel part of a family at all.

Raven argued with her about what to do in regards to the planet, and they poked and prodded each other good-naturedly as they did it, laughing when the squabble got too heated. 

Abby kept an eye on her physical injuries, and she made a point of having lunch with her every day, and asking her about her time in Eden, and about raising Madi. She also suggested that there might be medication Clarke could take for the nightmares and the panic attacks, but she wanted to wait until Clarke was off her painkillers for the bullet wound before they looked into it. 

Shaw and Clarke struck up quite the friendship, to the point where Raven jokingly asked if she should be jealous, and Clarke rolled her eyes and pretended not to notice the tense look in Bellamy’s eyes when she didn’t answer the question. Shaw helped her in her physical recovery with Abby, taking her for longer and longer walks around the ship until she could do it without any pain, and they high-fived in the cafeteria when she managed to travel from one side of the ship to the other without a single hitch. 

Emori started up game nights, because it was, _“What Monty and Harper would want”_ and everyone took to them with an unparalleled level of enthusiasm. After the second one, Diyoza called her a genius and Shaw and Clarke suggested that Emori be in charge of all group activities from that point forward, prompting a self-conscious blush to rise in her cheeks. Then Murphy kissed her soundly and she was distracted enough for the embarrassment to fade away. It was nice, to go from worrying about Clarke and intense discussions on the bridge every day to a relaxed, fun atmosphere after dinner. Emori also brokered a strained kind of peace between Clarke and Echo, which basically involved them both agreeing not to be in a room alone together, and not to start unnecessary fights. Clarke didn’t like Echo, but Bellamy promised her that she was a good person, that she was his family, so she tried to be more congenial around her, for him. 

To Echo’s credit, she didn’t bring up Madi again, and she even pulled Clarke aside one afternoon during a meeting to tell her that she though her idea about the nightblood was _“shrewd”_. Which turned out to be a flimsy excuse for her to assure Clarke that she didn’t resent her for the breakup with Bellamy, and that she truly held no ill-will towards her where _that_ was concerned. Clarke was, oddly, inclined to believe her, but Shaw and Murphy were both still dubious about it, and whenever Echo entered the room, they both postured like protective older brothers, which was really quite endearing. 

Diyoza was a breath of fresh air from the rest of them, because she was the only one not treating her like she might have a breakdown at any moment, and Clarke found herself gravitating towards her a little whenever she needed some tough love. Diyoza herself was in the last weeks of her pregnancy and getting steadily more miserable and less mobile, which in turn just made her _more_ despondent.

Clarke found some pencils and paper and managed to cheer Diyoza up with a few doodles, and then she was fielding request from everyone, everything from flowers (Shaw, for Raven) to rockets (Emori) to laser canons (Murphy), and loving every one. 

Some nights, when she couldn’t sleep, she would sit up at her desk with the lamp on, hunched over a sketch for hours, while Bellamy pressed his chin to the crown of her head and watched, completely enthralled. It was those nights that she felt most like her old self, the one who she thought had died in Praimfaya all those years ago, and it made her nostalgic for a time when she didn’t have isolation preying on her every waking second.  
  
  
  
  


  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**_I got lost_ **  
**_Inside a memory,_ **  
**_When I was young_ **  
**_And I almost drowned,_ **  
**_I was found_ **  
**_It sounds tacky_ **  
**_But I'm hopeful,_ **  
**_There's a reason_ **  
**_That I found the ground_ **  
**_And my sirens sound._ **  
**_Set the dark on fire_ **  
**_Now_ **

  
Clarke woke up one night, crying out for her pain to end, and Bellamy held her through it all, murmuring sweet nothings in her ear and begging her not to leave him. She returned the sentiment, pleading with him to stay as she buried her face in his chest and her tears stained his shirt.

His hands gripped at her as though reminding himself that she was still there, and she clutched at his neck and his curls, pulling him closer until they were lying in each other’s arms, their foreheads pressed together. 

They stayed that way until she had calmed down, but his grip on her didn’t lessen. If anything, he grasped her tighter, breathing heavily through his nose, and his heart was pounding beneath her fingertips. 

She thought something might be wrong so she opened her eyes, only to find that his were already waiting for her, and Clarke knew that he was going to kiss her before he moved.

So she moved first.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**_So take all that you know and stuff it in a hole,_ **  
**_And in ten thousand years someone will take you home,_ **  
**_Rewind the words in which you roam_ **  
**_Set the dark on fire_ **  
**_Set the dark on fire_ **  
**_Set the dark on fire_ **

  


They had spent years orbiting each other, never quite touching, never quite getting close enough to feel the fire of the other.

  


But that night, when she finally pressed lips to his, and he kissed her back with a passion that took her breath away, it was a gravitational pull more powerful than any in history.

  


Two stars finally crashed into one another, burning brighter together than they ever had done alone; a spectacular explosion of unsaid words and lost moments and years spent apart. 

  


Her fears crumbled to ash and his guilt turned to smoke and they lost themselves in each other, their orbits now one and the same, moving together against the world that had kept them apart for so long. 

  


Her lips pressed constellations into his skin and his fingers trailed across every inch of her, igniting galaxies wherever they roamed: creating universes in tandem. 

  


They didn’t know what was waiting for them on the planet below. 

  


They didn’t know what the future held.

  


All they knew was that no matter what, they would face it _together_. 

  


In that moment, it was just the two of them; a stellar collision of space dust and burning desire, sparking the very atmosphere around them to life. 

  
  
  


_Binary stars, setting the dark ablaze._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So that's it!
> 
> What did you think????
> 
> Come and scream incoherently at me on tumblr, I'm [@talistheintrovert](https://talistheintrovert.tumblr.com/) or if you want to send me prompts or ask me in depth questions about my writing process or any boring technical stuff like that, come and talk to me on my writing tumblr, [@introvertedtaliswrites](https://introvertedtaliswrites.tumblr.com/)
> 
> If you liked this story, I have written some others (although most of them are AUs) and I have five more on the way (when I find the time to work on them) and if you want to, you could read them. But obviously you don't have to, I'm not Octavia, this isn't Wonkru, and you aren't my enemy if you don't _choose_ to read more of my stuff. I'm honestly just so chuffed that you read this one. 
> 
> You're all lovely, and I hope this lived up to the painfully high expectations I set for myself. 
> 
> Thank you so so much for your kudos and for commenting, because it's really kept me motivated. 
> 
> I'm so glad this story made an impact, because I think the implications of mental health are so important, and I wanted to represent that in the right context. 
> 
> And thank you for reading it. You're all wonderful, and I love you all <3


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